


Kiss the Cold, Taste the Rain

by ClydeThistles



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angsty backstories, Bars and Pubs, Christmas, Cooking, Dancing, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/F, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Bar, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing in the Rain, Modern AU, Motorcycles, Phone Calls, Queer History (sort of), Slow Burn, Smoking, Walks In The Park, Yennaia, other characters appear, smolTissaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 66,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25350289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: It's a rainy Thursday night and Yennefer meets Tissaia in a pub. She falls head over heels - who wouldn't?Title taken from Tidelines' song "Taste the Rain".
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 192
Kudos: 281





	1. Beer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thinkbucket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkbucket/gifts).



> Inspired by @thinkbucket's prompt game on Tumblr. Not how the game is supposed to work, mea culpa, but the ideas just exploded in my head!  
> Setting: Bars  
> Trope: A little kiss  
> Line: "You're like five foot tall, how are you going to reach me?"

There are times Yennefer hates this city. And one of those times is when the wind is so fierce that it is raining _horizontally_. Her boots slip on the cobblestones as she makes a dash for the archway that leads to the beer garden, puddles streaking up her jeans. She had expected the pub to be a little busy but ducking past the bouncer swaddled in waterproofs she sees it is absolutely heaving. As the large screen on the wall comes into view and she registers the numerous brightly coloured shirts she groans in realisation. Football. There is football at the stadium tonight. It annoys her that even quirky little places like this are rammed when there’s a big match on. Someone stands on Yennefer’s foot and she glares but decides the staggering woman with large hoop earrings and stilettos is not a fight she will win so she presses through the crowd, clutching her rucksack in front of her as a personal-space enforcer. It’s too much of a trial to reach the door and leave. And it’s still pissing it down outside, so she decides to get a drink and find a corner to hide in. She pulls herself up to her full 5 foot 6 to scan around and spies a two-seater booth tucked into the corner and miraculously empty. Yennefer elbows past some men with football shirts stretched too tight over beer bellies. Slings her rucksack into the booth first and then flops down on the padded bench. She looks up and freezes. A woman is sat opposite her across the table, her eyebrows raised in surprise. She’s so small Yennefer hadn’t seen her behind the divider and is now staring at her open-mouthed.

“Christ! I’m sorry, I thought it was empty.”

As she grips her rucksack to stand the woman holds her hand out to stop her, “Please, don’t leave on my account. I’m not waiting for anyone and you’re not likely to find another seat tonight.”

The woman is stunning, and Yennefer is feeling rather dazed, but she manages to reply,

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. To be honest, I was running out of ways to look occupied.”

She smiles, a little curl at the corner of her mouth, so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t looking hard. Which Yennefer is. Recovering enough of her rational brain to remember her manners, Yennefer offers to buy the round,

“Drink?”

“Peroni, please.”

Yennefer quirks her eyebrows and the woman asks, “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I just didn’t have you down as a beer girl.”

And it is a perfectly reasonable conclusion to reach. The woman is in high-waisted blue jeans, a black turtleneck sweater and a charcoal tweed blazer. She has black-rimmed rectangular glasses and her dark hair is pulled back in a bun, sides swept back from an arrow-straight parting, not a flyaway in sight. Her make-up is subtle, elegantly minimalist and she radiates authority. In short, she looks like a Chardonnay or perhaps a Martini if it’s been a bad day. Her eyebrows twitch in amusement and she replies,

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m an all-sorts girl really.”

Yennefer grins and retrieves her wallet, making her way to the bar resisting the temptation to look back and see if the woman is watching her. And then she remembers the mirrored shelves and flicks her eyes up surreptitiously. Oh, sweet Jesus! The woman is openly staring, her gaze angled somewhere below Yennefer’s waist and an appraising look in her piercing blue eyes. Yennefer busies herself with her wallet, trying not to get too excited over what could be nothing. Returning to the table with two Peroni she sits down and then swears,

“Shit, I forgot glasses.”

The woman smirks and puts the bottle to her lips, licking away a drop that trickles down the neck of it.

“I always think it tastes better straight from the bottle anyway.” She holds out her hand for Yennefer to shake, “I’m Tissaia.”

“Yennefer. Tissaia’s a cool name.” Yennefer curses inwardly, who over the age of fifteen says _cool_? Something about Tissaia’s fingers lightly clasping hers has significantly diminished her command of the English language. To prove she can hold a coherent conversation she asks, “So, what brings you here?”

“I’m waiting to catch a train. It was this or stand outside in the rain.” She glances ruefully down at her feet, “You’d think I’d have lived here long enough to know suede shoes are not a good plan.”

Yennefer chuckles, “Stuck between football hooligans and torrential rain – welcome to paradise!”

“Indeed.” Tissaia takes another sip of her drink, “You’re not from here though? You don’t sound it.”

“No, I came up here to study.”

Tissaia’s eyebrows crease, “God, you’re not still a student?”

Yennefer smiles bemused, “I graduated three years ago but stayed on in the city.” Tissaia buries her face in her hands. Yennefer is alarmed, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just having a mid-life crisis having been hit square in the face with the realisation that I am _old_.”

Yennefer feels brave enough to grasp her wrists and pull her hands away from her face, “Rubbish! You can’t be a day over thirty.”

Tissaia scoffs but a little blush pinks her high cheekbones. “You must be a lightweight if one drink skews your perception that badly.”

Yennefer releases her wrists and decides to change the subject, “You don’t sound local either.”

“I work here. I’m from all over the place really but this is home now.”

Yennefer sits back, an overly serious expression on her face, “Hmmm, let me see. Lawyer?”

Tissaia shakes her head and arches her eyebrows, daring Yennefer to keep guessing.

“Professor?” No. Yennefer squints in concentration, her pained expression making Tissaia smile again. “Doctor?”

Tissaia nods and Yennefer holds up her hand for an exuberant high-five, ridiculously giddy at her correct guess. Tissaia has the good grace not to leave her hanging and awkwardly pats her palm against Yennefer’s, adorably out of her comfort zone. When they lower their hands to the tabletop, her smaller one naturally rests on top of Yennefer’s and neither of them decides she should move it.

“Emergency medicine, I’m an A&E consultant.”

Yennefer whistles admiringly, “No wonder you need a drink.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a chef. I’ve been working the hotels, but I just opened my own little place last month.”

“That’s impressive given you’re so young.”

“I’m not as much of a child as you seem to think.”

“My dear, you can carry off a leather jacket and wet hair – that makes you young in my book.”

Yennefer’s mouth goldfishes at the disguised compliment and she fiddles with the paper napkins in the condiment rack on the table. Their bottles are empty, and she offers to get another round but Tissaia shakes her head, fishing in her handbag for something.

“Thank you. But I’ll have a smoke first. Care to join?”

As she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter Yennefer looks up in surprise. Tissaia misinterprets it and sighs,

“I know, I know. A doctor who smokes, trust me I’ve heard it all before.”

“Actually, I was going to say it’s unusual to see anyone with actual cigarettes nowadays. Everyone has those vapes.”

They push their way to the door. Tissaia is even shorter standing up than Yennefer had realised, and she decides she’s possibly the most gorgeous creature she’s ever seen. It’s still raining, and they huddle under the awning together, their breath fogging in the cold.

“I did try a vape, but it just tasted like there was a car air freshener in my mouth.”

Yennefer’s mind has gone blank at the thought of anything being inside Tissaia’s mouth and the older woman must think she’s puzzled because she further clarifies, “You know, those tacky trees that hang off your rear-view mirror?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Those. Hmm. Dreadful.”

“I figure it’s my one vice so I might as well do it properly.”

She has two cigarettes clamped in her lips and lights them, cupping her hands round the flame as it flickers across her dimpled chin and sharp jaw. She removes one and hands it to Yennefer who notices as she takes it that there is a little smudge of Tissaia’s pale lipstick on it. The tobacco is warm and fragrant, an extra kick coming from the menthol filters, and Yennefer feels very alive all of a sudden. Tissaia holds her cigarette elegantly in deft fingers, nails trimmed short but buffed shiny and little well-practiced taps from her thumb dislodging the ash when it forms. Yennefer doubts a vape would look so _damn_ sexy and she’s rather pleased Tissaia doesn’t use one. Tissaia takes a long drag and tilts her head back to exhale, humming in pleasure. She turns her head to catch Yennefer staring,

“So, Yennefer. What’s your vice?”

Yennefer doesn’t need to think twice, “Chocolate.”

“Hmmm, I’m not keen on it myself.”

“I bet I could change your mind if you let me cook you something with it.”

“I might just take you up on that. Chocolate… fairly tame as vices go.”

“Well, I also have a weakness for dominatrixes.”

It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it and Yennefer blushes. It’s not even strictly true! Well, she _thinks_ she’d enjoy it, but she’s never tested the theory. Tissaia coughs and splutters, her cheeks going crimson and Yennefer thinks miserably that she’s ruined this. But then Tissaia’s coughs turn to snorts, supressing a laugh, and Yennefer smiles tentatively. Tissaia chuckles, wiping a tear from behind her glasses,

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting that! Touché. Serves me right for trying to rile you up.”

“I _was_ kidding.”

Tissaia flicks her eyes at her and picks a thread of tobacco from her lip, “That’s a shame. I had all sorts of questions for you.”

She doesn’t specify what kind of questions and Yennefer feels her stomach drop. They finish their cigarettes and head back inside, but their booth has been taken by a group of rowdy lads.

“Bastards!”

Yennefer’s stomach drops even further, there is something deliciously vulgar about Tissaia swearing. They lean against the bar, pressed close by the swell of bodies, leaning into each other to be heard over the din. Tissaia goes up on her tiptoes, speaks against Yennefer’s ear,

“Do you want to stay? I need to leave soon for my train, but I’d enjoy another drink.”

A glass smashes and a scuffle starts, Yennefer grabs Tissaia’s hand and pulls her to the door.

“Sorry, no more drinks tonight. We’d better escape while we can. Tell you what, let me walk you to the station and I’ll buy you a coffee instead.”

“Deal.” Tissaia produces a small umbrella from her handbag and opens it out. “Here, come share my umbrella.”

Yennefer raises her eyebrows sceptically, “I think I should be the one to hold it.”

“It’s my umbrella. I should hold it.”

“You’re like five foot tall, how are you going to reach me?”

Tissaia has a stubborn look on her face and Yennefer throws up her hands in exasperation. She ducks under the umbrella and they start to walk. Within seconds it is apparent that Yennefer was right, they trip over each other’s feet, Tissaia’s arm is stretched up ungainly and Yennefer is hunched over.

“I told you so.”

For a moment Tissaia looks cross but then she smiles sheepishly, “Oh go on then. Sorry, bit of a sore spot. People are always offering to lift things or carry stuff for me. I’m short, not incapable.”

“You’re the most capable person I’ve ever met.”

“You barely know me.”

“I know you enough to realise that.”

Tissaia gives her a strange look, almost sad, and then shakes herself. Links her elbow with Yennefer’s and cuddles in so they’re both under the now sensibly placed umbrella. The rain has eased slightly, a gentle patter on the nylon. Droplets sparkling in the streetlamps, in the fairy lights strung above the alley they take to reach the ornate Victorian gates that lead to the station. As they hover outside it is suddenly time to say goodbye and neither of them are quite sure how to do it. Yennefer takes a deep breath and blurts out,

“Can I have your number?”

Tissaia nods and reaches into her handbag for a pen. Because _of course_ she is the sort of woman who always has access to a pen, Yennefer thinks. She takes Yennefer’s hand and writes some numbers and her name neatly across the back of it.

“That’s adorably old school, you know. Most people type it straight into their phones.”

“Yes well, unlike you, I remember a time when there were no phones.”

“I thought we agreed you’re not old.”

Tissaia smiles and glances at the departure board. “I should go. I’m away for the weekend but I’m on night shift from Tuesday. Can you take time off during the day?”

“I’ll make time. You can bet on it.”

“I had a lovely time tonight, thank you.”

“It was awesome!” Yennefer cringes, why must she sound like a teenager?

Tissaia reaches up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to Yennefer’s cheek. A light, fleeting touch but enough for Yennefer to register the warmth of her lips, to smell her shampoo – ginger and tea-tree. She feels Tissaia's cheek cool from the night air and tastes a raindrop on her lips when she returns the kiss. It’s over far too quickly and has made Yennefer far too dizzy given it was such a brief moment of contact. Tissaia steps away, gives a little wave, walking briskly towards her platform. Yennefer stands in the rain watching her but doesn’t feel the cold.

Later that night she touches herself with the hand that still has Tissaia’s writing on it, her name in between Yennefer’s thighs. As she comes ridiculously hard remembering the way Tissaia’s mouth had curved round the beer bottle, Yennefer lays back panting and shakes her head. She is in trouble with this one. This one is going to be an adventure - she is certain of it.


	2. Whisky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer takes Tissaia to the park for a walk.

Tissaia takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes and exhaling. It had been a mistake to give Yennefer her number without getting one in return. It means control of the situation is completely in the younger woman’s hands and Tissaia detests not having an iron grip on every aspect of her life. The medical students shadowing her today are not helping matters. They are all young, eager and say things like “awesome” …which means they remind her of Yennefer. And of the fact that Tissaia has, pathetically, fallen for a woman half her age. Well, perhaps the age difference is not as drastic as that, but Yennefer is at least a decade younger than her. And Tissaia is not certain how she feels about it. She dithers between wanting Yennefer to text her and hoping she never does. Which is why she’s glad she makes a habit of leaving her phone in her locker to avoid distractions on the ward. Whatever else may happen, she will not allow this to affect her work. Nodding to herself to reinforce this resolve, she puts her glasses back on, adjusts the stethoscope round her neck and goes to round up her gaggle of shadows from their lunch break.

Yennefer picks up her phone for what feels like the twentieth time this hour. It’s Monday which means it’s been three days since she met Tissaia. Three days is the acceptable length of time to wait before texting, right? Or is it three dates before sex and one day before texts? Yennefer drops her phone back on the counter and groans. But then she realises Tissaia is probably not aware of the etiquette surrounding technology and dating that Yennefer’s generation is encumbered with. And even if she is, she’s not the sort of woman who would care about it. So, Yennefer tightens her chef’s apron to gird her loins and starts to type. When she hits send, she cannot help a nervous laugh. It’s done, the ball is no longer in her court. Her relief is short-lived as she must spend the next four hours waiting for Tissaia’s shift to finish before the message is delivered. The dinner rush gives her something to focus on and she loses herself in the tasks of chopping, stirring, grating, frying, piping, plating. Late that night, when service has ended and everything is cleaned and tidied away, she finally has a chance to look at her phone again. Her heart leaps into her throat. There’s a missed voice call from Tissaia, time-stamped over an hour ago. Shit! Yennefer fumbles into her jacket one-handed while she taps the ‘return call’ button.

_“Yennefer?”_

“Tissaia! Sorry, I missed you. Dinner rush.”

_“Of course! I’m sorry, I should have realised. Are you free to talk now?”_

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I texted you in the middle of a shift so we’re even. How are you?”

_“I’m good. A little tired, I had a group of medical students at my heels today.”_

“Whippersnappers with massive egos, no doubt?”

Tissaia gives a little snort, _“Some of them yes, but most were fine. Just very… enthusiastic.”_

“Is that a bad thing?”

_“No. It can be tiring though. There’s eight of them and only one of me so it’s a lot of extroversion.”_

Yennefer is simultaneously trying to lock up, rub an eyelash out of her eye-socket and keep the phone pressed to her ear. The noise she emits when it all goes wrong makes Tissaia pull the speaker away from her ear in alarm,

_“Are you alright?”_

“Yes, all fine! Just stabbed myself in the eye with a set of keys.”

_“Are you sure you’re ok? You sound like you’re in pain.”_

“No, no! All tickety-boo!”

Yennefer smacks her forehead with her palm – why does she sound like she’s stepped off the set of Call the Midwife? Tissaia makes an unconvinced noise but changes the subject,

_“I have twenty-four hours off before my next shift pattern starts. Would you like to get me that coffee you promised?”_

Yennefer stops dead in her tracks. She had expected a great deal of pussyfooting and general politeness before reaching the subject of a date. It would seem Tissaia takes the lead when she knows what she wants. That could be interesting…

_“Yennefer?”_

Yennefer snaps out of the daydream she had been indulging in and clears her throat,

“Yes, that would be lovely. How about a walk in the park, the one next to the Uni? It’s beautiful there at this time of year.”

_“Sounds perfect. I’ll meet you tomorrow at two? By the lion statue?”_

“That works for me, means I can do breakfast and lunch then be back in time for dinner.”

_“Excellent, I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

“Sure thing. Cheerio!”

Yennefer jabs her thumb at the screen to hang up and swears out loud,

“For fucks sake, Yennefer! Who says 'cheerio'?”

When Tissaia’s voice echoes up from her palm Yennefer nearly drops the phone,

_“If it makes you feel any better, I like it when you use silly words.”_

“You didn’t hang up!” Yennefer says accusingly.

 _“I was about to, but you were still speaking!”_ Tissaia protests _, “How was I to know you were having a conversation with yourself?”_

“Right, well I’m hanging up now. And then going to find the nearest hole in the ground and jump into it.”

Tissaia chuckles, _“Goodnight, Yennefer.”_

“Night.”

Yennefer makes certain the line is cut this time and then jams her helmet over her head to hide her red cheeks. She revs the engine on her motorbike more than is strictly necessary before kicking off. Her annoyance soon fades however as she remembers that Tissaia said she liked something about her. Tissaia likes her. Now _that_ is awesome.

* * * *

There are times Yennefer loves this city. And one of those times is autumn afternoons when the sun is shining, and the cold is nipping but not biting. The trees have turned and it is a myriad of golds, russets and crimsons as she stands on the hill that overlooks the park, stretching all the way down to the river and then back up the other bank to the Uni, the spire of its gothic bell tower visible above the treeline. She stamps her feet a little to warm them and adjusts her rucksack, tucks her knitted scarf back into the lapels of her leather jacket and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. The scarf matches her eyes and against the black of her jacket and hair it is strikingly bright. Her hair is always tied back for work, but she lets it hang loose now, enjoying the breeze dancing through the curls. She watches the network of paths that lead up to the statue, keeping an eye out for Tissaia. The clock in the tower chimes the hour and then one, two. Just as the chime dies away, Tissaia sneaks up behind her, making Yennefer jump.

“Oh you! Did you stand there waiting to arrive literally on time?”

“I enjoy punctuality.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

They smile at each other, suddenly a little shy. Tissaia is wearing a belted double-breasted jacket made of grey wool with over-sized buttons. The hem ends mid-way down her thighs and Yennefer smiles inwardly, it’s probably meant to just cover someone’s bottom, but sits much lower on Tissaia’s small form. She’s got a pale blue scarf that looks like it’s cashmere and, best of all, there’s a matching bobble hat on her head. It is beyond adorable. Eager to break the silence Yennefer says,

“Nice hat.”

Tissaia adjusts it so it sits more firmly on her head, “Thanks. I like your scarf. My goodness – your eyes! I didn’t see them properly the other night.”

She peers closer, and the intense eye contact is making Yennefer slightly breathless.

“Is it blue? Purple? Whatever it is, it’s gorgeous!”

Yennefer blushes and bats Tissaia away from her, “Come on, let’s walk.”

They set off down one of the paths falling into step easily. Yennefer has many questions she wants to ask but Tissaia seems to be content walking in companionable silence, so she bites her tongue for now. The air is cold and fresh, crisp with leafy smells and smoky from some brave soul having the last barbecue of the year. As they meander past the glasshouses and reach the river, Yennefer shivers and Tissaia links their elbows, briskly rubbing Yennefer’s forearm to warm her. The park is large, and they’ve already covered a fair distance, so Yennefer stops and beckons Tissaia to follow her into the undergrowth next to the river. Squeezing past the bushes leads to a little clearing where a massive fallen tree lies at an angle. This is Yennefer’s favourite spot to sit and watch the world go by and she clambers up onto the trunk. When she turns, Tissaia is still stood on the ground, hands on her hips and glaring up at her.

“And just how do you expect me to get up there?”

“Climb?”

“That’s easy for you to say, long-legs.”

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand up.”

She reaches down and Tissaia makes a disgruntled noise but takes her hand and scrabbles up the mossy bark. They settle themselves, legs swinging and shoulders touching. Yennefer reaches into her rucksack for the thermos she’s been carrying.

“So, I know I owe you a coffee, but I thought this might be nice. It’s a recipe I’m working on, you can let me know what to tweak.”

As she unscrews the cup and lid, Tissaia sniffs appreciatively, “Smells good. What is it?”

“Hot toddy but jazzed up a bit.”

Tissaia looks at her wristwatch. Yennefer, who has never worn a watch in her life, asks pointedly,

“Am I boring you?”

“No! I’m just calculating how many hours until I’m on duty and deciding if I can have alcohol.”

“There’s hardly any in it. And whisky is practically medicinal.”

Tissaia scoffs but she must decide it is early enough in the day because she holds out the cup for Yennefer to fill. Steam curls from it and Tissaia blows lightly before taking a sip. Her eyes drift shut, and she sighs,

“Oh my, that is… wonderful!”

Yennefer grins and takes a swig from the lid. It’s hot and citrusy, sweet from the honey and a fragrant kick from the spices she’s used, the fire from the whisky hitting the back of her throat. It makes everything warm and tingly, right down to her fingertips. Tissaia has already finished hers and gestures for another. Yennefer pours and they sit, wrapping their hands round their drinks, their shoulders and thighs pressed together for extra warmth. Their breath fogs in the air and the river splashes amenably as it passes them. When the bell rings three they startle, neither feeling that any time has passed. Yennefer sighs,

“I need to head off, I haven’t finished prep for tonight.”

“Mm, I should get going too. I need to get to the shops before starting my shift.”

Neither of them makes any movement and when their eyes meet, they smile at their reluctance to part company. Nonetheless, they must move so, they jump down and begin to walk back towards the gates. When they reach the fork in the road, Tissaia indicates her direction,

“I’m going into town, you?”

“West End. I can give you a lift that far if you like?”

“Did you drive?”

“No, I’ve got my bike.”

As they reach the cycle racks, Tissaia frowns and crosses her arms,

“I am _not_ balancing on your handlebars, Yennefer.”

Yennefer chuckles, “Don’t worry. It’s not that sort of bike.”

She pats the motorbike proudly and turns to Tissaia, who has gone very pale.

“You ride a motorbike?”

Yennefer misjudges her reaction as nervousness and cajoles, “Well I don’t wear this biker jacket as a fashion statement. Come on, it’s perfectly safe. I’ve got a spare helmet.”

Tissaia is incensed, “Do you have _any_ idea how many people I have to put back together when they’ve been smashed to pieces on one of those things? Do you realise how _stupid_ it is to be on one?”

“Alright, alright. Calm down! Jesus, are you always this uptight?”

Tissaia’s eyebrows arch and her mouth hardens into a thin line, nostrils flaring. Her voice is cold, harsh, so different to the melodious one Yennefer has heard so far that she is not entirely certain it is the same person in front of her.

“I am going to leave before I say something I regret. I suggest you do the same.”

She turns on her heel and storms off, jamming her hands into her pockets. Yennefer shouts after her,

“You don’t get to tell me what to do! You’re not my mother!”

She stops herself from adding ‘but you’re old enough to be’. Even in her foul mood she knows there is no coming back from that one. And she wants there to be a way back from this, she wants it very badly.


	3. Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia takes Yennefer sailing. And they share chips... because every budding relationship needs a chip-sharing scene right? Warning: mentions fatal traffic accidents

When Yennefer answers her video call, Tissaia has to pick her jaw up off the carpark pavement where staff take smoke breaks. Yennefer’s black hair is damp, looking like it’s just been rubbed vigorously with a towel. No one has the right to look _that_ good with messy hair. A white tank top against her caramel skin is making Tissaia’s mouth water and there is far too much décolletage on show for anyone to think straight. Tissaia feels her lips curl at the unintended pun from her inner monologue and mentally slaps her wrist. She is phoning to apologise, not leer and indulge in tasteless innuendo.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I just showered and was going to settle in but I’m not sleepy so, what’s up?”

“I owe you an apology. My behaviour was unacceptable the other day. I assure you it was completely out of character. And is in no way a reflection of my feelings towards you, quite the opposite in fact. I am truly sorry.”

Yennefer swallows, her throat bobbing, “Thank you. That was… can an apology be beautiful? Because that was possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Well we’ll have to do something about that, you deserve so much more than an apology from a carpark.”

This seems to have struck a nerve because Yennefer tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and awkwardly lowers her eyes making Tissaia wish she could reach out and tilt her chin back up. Yennefer clears her throat, returns her gaze to the screen,

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t realise you’d feel so strongly about it… what’s the deal with motorbikes?”

Tissaia sighs, flicking her eyes away “I disapprove of them, I think they’re dangerous. Is that not reason enough?”

Yennefer leans forward, insistent “You almost took my head off which doesn’t bode well if all it takes to makes you snap is a difference of opinion… but you don’t seem the kind of person who’s intolerant of others’ views so I’m guessing there’s something more to it.”

Tissaia rubs the back of her neck and sighs again. “I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. I’m going sailing on my next day off – come with me and we can chat then.”

Yennefer looks uncertain, “I’ve never been sailing. I’d be a liability.”

“Nonsense! I can give you a crash course in the basics and I often go out on my own, so I’m used to doing all the work. You can just sit back and watch if you want.”

Yennefer smirks, her tone teasing, “Oh yes? Does that offer apply to situations other than sailing?”

Tissaia admonishes, “Don’t be salacious, get your mind out of the gutter!” but there’s a glint in her eyes which makes Yennefer shiver. Tissaia continues, “Please say you’ll come. I’d like to make it up to you after my outburst. And… I want to see you again.”

Yennefer smiles, “Alright, but only if you come to the restaurant afterwards and let me cook for you.”

“Done. Monday’s my day off – can you take time then?”

“We’re shut Mondays so that’s perfect.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you the time and place. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I am very glad I am not your mother.”

Yennefer flushes and pulls a blanket up to her nose, cringing, “Oh god, you heard that?”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows sternly, “My dear, everyone this side of the river heard it.”

Yennefer shrugs sheepishly, flashes her best smile and Tissaia pretends extremely hard that it is not doing all sorts of things to her insides. To regain some of her dignity, she adjusts her stethoscope and squares her shoulders, “You should get to bed, and I need to check my shadows haven’t murdered any patients.”

Yennefer chuckles. Then, before Tissaia realises that she’s taking her words at face value, Yennefer clambers into bed, pulling blankets up to her chin, lying on her side and gazing at her from a snuggle of white pillows and raven curls. “Night, Tissaia.”

Tissaia scoffs affectionately, “Go to sleep. Before you say anything ridiculous.”

She hangs up and leans her head back against the wall, sighing in resignation. Oh, she is in deep with this one. This is going to be a gamechanger – she is certain of it.

* * * *

Yennefer takes the train to the loch rather than her bike as she’s not ready for another confrontation. But she’s determined to make Tissaia understand why she loves being on a motorbike, make her experience the thrill and freedom. The woman could do with losing control, frankly. Yennefer walks along the slipway, scanning the various boats and spies her at the far end. Tissaia greets her, still a little shy after her outburst,

“Hello.”

“Hi. You look nice.”

Tissaia looks down at her outfit in confusion, “I’m wearing a wetsuit and neoprene shoes…”

“And you look good in them.”

Tissaia pinks and hands Yennefer some neatly folded garments, “You’ll need these. Did you bring sunglasses like I said?”

Yennefer nods, “Where do I change?”

“Just put those on over your own clothes. I didn’t think I’d find a wetsuit to fit comfortably without your measurements, so I got you some waterproof outer-layers.”

“Thanks. This is exciting, I’ve never been on a boat.”

“My sister Calanthe and I used to sail together as kids. She and her husband have a house near here, I usually spend long weekends with them.”

“Ah is that where you were getting a train to that night in the pub?”

Tissaia nods while she busies herself coiling some lines. Yennefer wriggles into the cargo trousers and waterproof jacket, bemoaning the black and neon-yellow colour scheme.

“I look like a bumble bee rolled in UV paint. How can one piece of clothing require this many toggles?”

She plucks at an offending bit of elastic but then forgets to complain because Tissaia is tightening the various fastenings, making her snug and watertight. Having Tissaia’s hands all over her, a look of concentration on her face, is making Yennefer tingly and she shifts a little to disguise the shiver that runs through her. Tissaia pats her shoulders satisfied with her work and beckons her onto the deck.

“Welcome aboard. This is the cockpit, the mainsail, the headsail, these are the sheets and lines. And this is the tiller.” She sits next to a pole that swings side to side, gesturing for Yennefer to sit beside her. “This is what you’ll be working with, if you’re up for joining in?”

“Sure. I’ll give it a go.”

“So, it’s like a steering wheel. The sails let us control how we use the wind and where it takes us but this, the tiller, is what does the finer details. Now, you pull the tiller the opposite direction to where you want to go. So, turning right, pull it left. Got it?”

Yennefer nods looking worried. Tissaia smiles, “Don’t panic. You’ll be great and I’ll be telling you what to do. Last thing before we go – lifejackets. Here, put this on.”

Yennefer buckles the neon-orange contraption around herself and strikes a pose, “Sexy huh?”

Tissaia snorts, tightens her ponytail, adjusts her sunglasses and pulls on a pair of gloves. Picking up the line that ties them to the dock, she turns to Yennefer, “Ready?”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

“It’s Skipper on this kind of boat but Captain works for me.”

“Oh, it _works_ for you, does it?”

Tissaia glares at her, another blush pinking her cheeks. She uses a motor to get them out of the slipway and into open water. Then starts to dart around the boat, hauling on lines, clipping shackles, raising the massive sail as if it’s just a bedsheet she’s hanging on a washing line. Yennefer watches open-mouthed, the shifting of her muscles visible through the wetsuit, her small body jumping nimbly about on the rocking deck, deft fingers knotting ropes round winches. When everything is as it should be, she joins Yennefer at the tiller.

“Alright, so we’re heading directly into the wind which we don’t want. So, turn us left a little. That’s it, not too far. Nice.”

Her hand is resting over Yennefer’s on the tiller, guiding it. She’s sitting so close that her breath tickles Yennefer’s neck when she leans in to speak, “Look up, see those little tabs flapping on the edge of the sail? Those are telltales – when they’re blowing straight out, it means you’re making the most of what the wind is giving you.

Tissaia takes them out a little further, hauling lines and adjusting the sails while Yennefer steers, her eyes glued to the telltales and her tongue poking out in concentration. They settle into a glide, the bow of the boat slicing through the water. Then, Tissaia sits down next to Yennefer and leans back, keeping an eye on things but content to go where the wind takes them. She clears her throat,

“The day before we met in the park, I had a patient brought in from a motorbike accident. He was only a boy, no older than you. And he wasn’t just broken, he was _mangled_. We did what we could, but it was no use, I had to tell a mother that her son was dead.”

She is silent for a moment then continues,

“It’s always upsetting when you lose a patient, but this was more, I was _angry_. If he hadn’t been on that bike, he’d probably have lived another fifty, sixty years. How can a machine be worth fifty years of someone’s life?”

She pauses to adjust the tiller, her hand once again on Yennefer’s and this time, she keeps it there.

“And then, when I saw you with your bike, all I could think was ‘I’m glad it wasn’t her who died yesterday.’ I’ve never been so ashamed; it was utterly selfish to think it, but I did. Because the thought of you ending up like that boy, it was… I couldn’t…”

She trails off, unable to finish her sentence. Eases their hands a little to the right, tugs on a sheet, her eyes on the water.

“So, long story short there was a lot going on, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Yennefer is quiet for a moment, unsure where to begin. “You told me about your over-enthusiastic medical students, but didn’t mention you had a patient die? Why? That must have been awful for you, why would you keep it to yourself?”

“I didn’t want to burden you with it or spoil our day. And I try not to bring work home with me. Leave it at the door, as they say.”

“Tissaia, I’m not one of your students or someone’s relative or a colleague. I’m your friend. That means you don’t need to put on a brave face with me. It means, if something is bothering you then you tell me, and I do what I can to help.” 

Heedless of the tiller between them, Yennefer puts her arm round Tissaia’s shoulder and pulls her into a sideways hug. Tissaia resists for a moment but she softens, letting her head rest on her shoulder and lightly placing her hand on Yennefer’s knee, rubbing little circles with her thumb. Yennefer rests her cheek against Tissaia’s hair, stroking the forearm her palm is curled round.

“And as for feeling guilty, there is nothing shameful in hoping no harm comes to people you care about. It just means you’re human.”

Tissaia lifts her head and Yennefer leans in. Brushes her lips against Tissaia’s, only the slightest of touches, so light she thinks she may have imagined it. Then the mainsail creaks ominously and Tissaia leaps forward adjusting the sheet just in time to stop the boom swinging round and cracking them both over the head. She flexes her hands, palms stinging from the sudden jerk of the rope despite her gloves. Refusing to meet Yennefer’s eyes she says offhandedly,

“We should head back in.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Please, we can just forget that happened.”

“You haven’t discomfited me. We’re going back because it is irresponsible piloting a boat when I’m this distracted.”

“I’m distracting you?”

“Yennefer, I’m practically brain-dead after that kiss.”

When Tissaia risks a glace at her, Yennefer’s breath hitches at the smouldering in her eyes. She grins and resists the urge to punch the air with glee. Tissaia shoos her away from the tiller,

“Go on, head up to the bow and enjoy the view while I work here. I don’t want you within grabbing distance.”

Yennefer bounds along the deck, swinging on the lines and masts to reach the bow. Her hair is blowing in the breeze as she stares ahead proud and beautiful like the figurehead of a ship. Watching her, Tissaia feels herself falling a little bit in love. When Yennefer leans over the side to dip her fingers in the little waves falling off the prow, Tissaia warns,

“Careful, you’ll freeze if you fall in.”

Yennefer looks back over her shoulder at her, “The cold will be the least of my worries. I can’t swim.”

Tissaia pinches the bridge of her nose, incredulous, “And it didn’t cross your mind you should share this information _before_ I took you into the middle of a loch?”

“I’m wearing my sexy life jacket, aren’t I? Besides, it would be romantic if you had to save me from drowning.”

Tissaia makes her way up to the bow to unclip the headsail, “Don’t even _think_ of jumping in on purpose because I will not come in after you.”

Yennefer takes advantage of her proximity and skims her hand round her waist, her voice sultry “It might cool you down.”

Tissaia bats her hand away and frowns but the dimples tugging at her cheek betray her, “Away with you! Sit there and don’t move until we’re on dry land.”

They reach the slipway without further ado and while Tissaia tidies up and changes out of her wetsuit, Yennefer spies a fish & chip shop. She returns with a paper cone of chips and a can of cider, packets of ketchup clenched in her teeth. Tissaia crosses her arms indignantly,

“I thought you were making me dinner?”

Yennefer’s response is muffled, “I am. This is just a snack.” She sits on the harbour wall, swinging her legs and patting the ground next to her. Tissaia joins her and picks a chip, hot and crispy with fluffy insides and sharp with vinegar. She wrinkles her nose in distaste however when Yennefer squirts ketchup over them.

“You just ruined perfectly good chips.”

“I did not. Here, you eat the ones without ketchup. Then we’re both happy.” She opens the can, “I didn’t get you one because you’re driving but you can share mine if you like.”

Tissaia shakes her head politely, sighing in satisfaction at the view. The loch is shimmering, reflecting the autumnal trees. The nearest Munro is etched clear against the sky today, every nook and cranny on it outlined, the last of this year’s gorse and heather dusting it with yellows and purples. And there’s just enough of a breeze to make the water lap gently at the stones of the harbour wall in a steady lulling rhythm. When their chips are finished, they get into Tissaia’s car and start the drive back into the city. The sky starts to darken, thunder rumbling in the distance and by the time they’re on the motorway it’s raining steadily. Yennefer has always loved being driven by someone else. Being in a car makes her sleepy and relaxed, something comforting in trusting the driver with your safety. And she trusts Tissaia, unquestioningly. So, feeling warm and cosy, listening to the rain pattering, she lays her palm gently on Tissaia’s thigh and turns in her seat to watch her. Tissaia’s eyes flick down to her hand but she doesn’t make her move it, letting Yennefer feel the shift of her leg muscles as she works the pedals, brushing her arm with her own whenever she changes gear. As they head off into the growing dark, Tissaia flicks on the headlights and the glow picks up the little smile tugging at her mouth. Yennefer sighs happily.


	4. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer cooks for Tissaia.  
> Also, this was meant to be a Yennefer/Tissaia story but the others kept appearing and I no longer had the heart to send them away. It's still mainly Yennaia but guest appearances from other characters may now occur... Geralt is a sommelier... I'm just going to roll with it *shrug*

Yennefer makes Tissaia wait in the car while she runs out in the rain to open the restaurant and switch on the lights. When she reappears at the driver’s door with an umbrella, Tissaia feels a tugging at her chest with the sweetness of the gesture. Yennefer even opens the car door for her though there is nothing grandiose or tongue-in-cheek about it. It is nearly impossible to be sincerely chivalrous nowadays and Tissaia thinks the fact Yennefer can pull it off says a great deal about the young woman. Yennefer escorts her to the front door and, bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement, pushes it open to reveal the restaurant interior,

“Welcome to ‘The Wolf and Swallow’.”

Tissaia looks bemused and asks, “Because the food is so good people wolf it down?”

Yennefer throws up her hands in despair, “No! It’s a reference to my favourite books as a kid… you know, the white wolf and his little swallow?”

Tissaia still shows no sign of recognition and Yennefer huffs in disapproval at her lack of literary taste, “Ugh! I’ll lend them to you.”

Tissaia strokes her shoulder appeasing, “Or better yet, you could read them to me. Don’t pout.”

Yennefer pulls herself out of her sulk and takes Tissaia’s hand, “You’re right, don’t mind me – I get very invested in stories I like. Come on, let me show you around.”

The décor is rustic but sleek, bare stone walls and wooden beams with warm pendant lights and a huge open fireplace at one end. Little leather armchairs and bentwood chairs with tartan cushions sit in neat formations round wooden tables of various heights, all polished to a high sheen, the smell of beeswax and woodsmoke in the air. The bar is a smooth sheet of grey slate and has backed stools, padded, and covered in tweed. In a rack above the bar, dozens of wineglasses, flutes, snifters, and hurricanes are all suspended mid-air by their stems, winking in the light. Tissaia sighs in appreciation,

“It’s beautiful, Yennefer. So unpretentious but you can still tell you’re somewhere with high standards.”

Yennefer looks pleased as she takes down two glasses and retrieves a bottle of white wine from the fridge behind the bar. With a sommelier knife she cuts off the seal, switches to the corkscrew and twists with practiced ease producing a satisfying pop when the cork is free. Tissaia arches her eyebrows,

“No screw-tops here then.”

Yennefer grimaces, “God no! Geralt would have a fit.”

“Who’s Geralt?”

“He’s our sommelier and bartender, he’s also one of my oldest friends. His partner Jaskier is the maître d’ and Triss is my sous-chef. We’ve got some other junior staff but the four of us do most of the work.”

Yennefer pours and chuckles, “Geralt and I used to be each other’s beards before he came out.”

“You came out later, after him?”

Yennefer beckons Tissaia to follow her to the kitchen, wine in hand, “No, I was already out. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know I was attracted to women. There were times though when it was useful, or safer, to pretend that Geralt and I were a hetero couple.”

The kitchen is a gleaming array of chrome surfaces and white tiles, copper pots and steel knives, a completely different world to the cosy front-of-house. Yennefer pulls up a stool for Tissaia at the main counter and steps into a side-room, still talking,

“How about you? When did you realise you liked women?”

Tissaia swirls the wine in her glass thoughtfully, “I had a major crush on my headmistress when I was in sixth-form. But I was almost twenty before I met anyone who was openly gay and realised there was a name for what I felt.”

“Seriously?”

“Things were different back then. Stonewall was 1969 but even thirty years later it was still the norm to keep it behind closed doors. Section 28 was being enforced in schools and I came from a sheltered background. I remember the first time I kissed a woman though – it was like everything suddenly made sense; it all just fell into place. After that, wild horses couldn’t keep me away from Pride Marches.” She chuckles ruefully, “I even got a labrys tattoo.”

Yennefer pokes her head out, looking impressed “You’ve got a tattoo? Tissaia, you dark horse!”

Tissaia raises an eyebrow intriguingly, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, young lady. I wasn’t always a sensible middle-aged doctor with a mortgage.”

“You are _not_ middle-aged!”

Yennefer reappears, swatting Tissaia’s arm in reprimand. Tissaia forgets whatever she was going to say in response because the sight of Yennefer in chef whites has made her incapable of recalling even her own name. The crisp white jacket is double-breasted and open at the collar, giving a tantalising glimpse of her collarbone notch. The sleeves are rolled mid-way up her forearms and Tissaia has the inexplicable urge to run her tongue along the line between white fabric and caramel skin. The pinstripe apron round her waist only makes her legs look longer and her hips neater, begging to be gripped. Yennefer smirks,

“Eyes back in your head, I’m not what you’re meant to be salivating over.”

Tissaia pinks a little but growls, “Well, maybe you should hurry up and cook something then.”

Yennefer grins wolfishly and flashes a set of knives against one another, sharpening them in a dizzying whirl of steel. Impressively, Tissaia looks unfazed despite the lethal utensils being brandished practically under her nose. Yennefer starts collecting ingredients, turning ovens on, fetching bowls and whisks and all manner of things Tissaia is unfamiliar with. She’s not a bad cook herself but it is clear this is Yennefer’s metier, not just a task but an artform. As she works, Tissaia contents herself with sipping wine and watching her. Yennefer starts to peel and chop a butternut squash and Tissaia wonders out loud,

“Have you ever cut yourself?”

Yennefer goes very still, a strange look on her face, “Why do you ask?”

Tissaia gestures at the counter, “The knives, I can barely see them you’re going so fast.”

Yennefer’s face clears and she continues chopping, “Oh. A couple times in training but you practice for hours before you get up any speed. I don’t even think about it now.”

Yennefer moves differently in the kitchen. Her gestures are smooth, precise, and measured. She has razor-sharp focus and pays attention to the tiniest detail. It reminds Tissaia of the difference between collies left to their own devices and those trained as sheep dogs. The former a bundle of energy, eager and lovable but rather chaotic while the latter are sleek, elegant purposeful creatures. She’s only seen the exuberant side of Yennefer so far and this new facet of her character is fascinating to watch. As she puts the squash in the oven to roast and starts to grind spices in a mortar and pestle, Yennefer teases,

“I can hear your mind turning. What are you thinking about?”

Tissaia decides not to reply with the word ‘sheepdogs’ and instead says, “You move differently when you’re cooking. It’s like you’re calmer.”

“It took me ages to find something I was good at and that I enjoyed. I was a bit of whirlwind as a teenager, but cooking helped get me back on track. It’s odd given it’s such a high-pressure situation but something about a dinner rush grounds me.”

“I get that. It’s the same on the ward when it’s busy. There’s this sweet spot when you’re riding high on the adrenaline, but you know you’re capable of dealing with the situation, that you are in control of it. Instead of the pressure stressing you out, it makes you think clearer. When you’re working in that spot it’s magic.”

Yennefer nods in agreement, holding out the mortar for Tissaia to sniff. Sweet cardamom, pungent cloves, fiery chillies, smoky cumin, and tangy lemongrass assault Tissaia’s nostrils and she hums in pleasure. Setting the spices to one side, Yennefer starts to crack eggs into a little hill of flour, mixing it with her fingers and passing it back and forth between her palms until it’s a ball of dough. Pausing to grin at Tissaia, she starts to smack it off the counter, stretching and kneading, smacking it again, creating a ruckus.

Tissaia admonishes, “You’re enjoying that far too much.”

“You have a go, it’s very therapeutic.”

Tissaia shakes her head, sipping her wine, “It’s my turn to watch, remember?”

Yennefer’s cheeks flush and she hurriedly returns her attention to her fresh pasta, working the dough so it’s smooth and stretchy. Had she known how Tissaia’s eyes were raking over the supple twisting muscles in her forearms and the deft flicks of her wrists, she may have carried on kneading longer than strictly necessary. Instead, she rolls it thin and cuts little circles out of it, laying a damp towel over them while she retrieves the butternut. The orange flesh has turned soft and buttery, little crisp bits at the edges. Yennefer scoops it out and works it into a smooth paste, blending in the spice mix. She then spoons little dollops onto the pasta and crimps the edges until there are rows of perfectly formed ravioli along the counter. Dropping them into a pot of boiling water, she pours some of the white wine into another pan and sets it alight, flames licking up from the alcohol. Tissaia blanches,

“I thought motorbikes were dangerous but perhaps I should be more concerned about your day job?”

Yennefer just wriggles her eyebrows provocatively, “You should see me when I get my blowtorch out.”

Fresh sage leaves, butter and bacon lardons get thrown into the wine once the conflagration has calmed down. At last, Yennefer plates the ravioli, spoons the sage butter over the top and sets it in front of Tissaia with a flourish. They decide to take their plates through to the restaurant, more white wine being uncorked as they start to eat. After her first bite Tissaia nods emphatically,

“Oh yes. You know your way round food, my dear, I’ll give you that.”

Yennefer looks triumphant, “Good. It’s what Triss and I like doing best, classic dishes but with a twist. Like this, it’s Italian pasta but with Asian flavours thrown in.”

As Tissaia eats more Yennefer warns, “Save space for pudding. I’m going to change your mind about chocolate.”

Sure enough, some time later, a chocolate fondant is presented, steaming hot with crispy edges and a liquid centre. When Tissaia takes a tentative bite, her mind goes blank for a moment. It is chocolate but not like she’s ever tasted before. Rich and dark, almost bitter but with sweet vanilla through it and a hint of fiery chili powder. Velvety, gooey heaven on a spoon. Tissaia blushes at the moan that escapes her.

“Now _that_ I can understand as a vice. I’ve never tasted anything like it! I hate chocolate but this…”

“It’s what chocolate is meant to taste like, not that sugary shit in shiny packets.”

Yennefer uncorks a different bottle of wine, red this time, and pours some into a glass. “Here, try this with it.”

She then picks up a spoon and is about to help herself to a bite but Tissaia smacks the spoon away with her own, “Leave _my_ pudding alone.”

“I only made one!”

“That’s your problem… if you didn’t want me to be selfish you shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Yennefer watches, half-amused half-indignant, as Tissaia pulls the plate towards herself possessively. She relents however and offers a bite to Yennefer on her spoon, something darkening in her blue eyes. Yennefer accepts the unspoken challenge and leans forward, parts her lips to allow Tissaia to slip the spoon into her mouth. She knows it’s all in her mind, but Yennefer is sure it tastes better because it’s Tissaia feeding her. A little smudge catches on her lower lip and Tissaia reaches up, wipes it away with her thumb, running it over Yennefer’s mouth even after the chocolate is gone. Their breath quickens and Yennefer can see Tissaia’s pupils dilating. Something shifts in the air and they lean in towards one another, the last breath of space between them closing suddenly as Tissaia captures Yennefer’s lips with her own. She rests her hands either side of Yennefer’s neck and pulls her in closer, tugs at her lower lip, requesting access which Yennefer grants. When Tissaia's tongue slides into her mouth, Yennefer groans in pleasure. She's hot and slippery and tastes of red berries from the wine and cocoa and vanilla. It’s enough to make Yennefer tremble as she reaches to wrap her arms round Tissaia’s body. They can’t get close enough still sitting in their separate chairs so Tissaia stands and straddles Yennefer, sitting in her lap, forcing her face up to kiss her hungrily. She pulls away momentarily making Yennefer whimper, but the sound catches in her throat when Tissaia lifts her glass of red wine, takes a sip and joins their lips again, dribbling it across her tongue into Yennefer’s mouth. Yennefer slides her hands up Tissaia’s sides, along her shoulders and her neck until she can reach the band holding her ponytail in place. She releases it and Tissaia’s long dark hair waterfalls through her fingers, curtaining round the two of them. The older woman's hands tug at the buttons of Yennefer’s jacket, eager to feel her skin beneath her fingertips. Yennefer grips her hips, encouraging the gentle rocking motion Tissaia is making. She moans as Tissaia’s hands get past the first row of buttons, her nails scraping along her clavicle. And then, the tastefully elegant but delicately constructed bentwood beneath them collapses, its legs splaying and snapping, the two of them landing on the floor with a thud.

Yennefer groans, the debris of wrecked chair digging into her shoulder blades and Tissaia still straddling her, her palms pressed against her chest and gasping for breath, her eyes wide with shock.

“Oh my god! Yennefer, are you alright? Yennefer?”

“I’m fine. Nothing broken. Well, apart from the chair obviously.”

She cracks her eyes open to grin at Tissaia who bites her lower lip supressing a giggle which turns into a belly-laugh, her hands clutching her sides, Yennefer’s laughter beneath her making them both shake. Breathless and gasping, Tissaia falls forward, burying her cheek in Yennefer’s neck, still chuckling softly. When Yennefer recovers enough to speak, she complains good-naturedly,

“Get off me woman so I can get this kindling out from underneath me.”

Tissaia looks mortified and immediately rolls off her, helping her sit up, “I’m sorry! It was just such a surprise, one minute I was all hot and bothered and then bang, you were looking up at me with such a shocked expression on your face.”

The memory only makes their giggles return and their attempts at removing the splinters of wood from Yennefer’s hair are ineffectual to say the least. When at last they are clear of the wreckage Tissaia sighs,

“I think that was my cue to leave.”

Yennefer’s eyes widen and she reaches for Tissaia, “You can’t go now! You can’t leave me like this, I’m about to snap you’ve wound me up so tight.”

“I must. It’s been over thirty hours since I last slept and I’m rather tipsy. I don’t want our first time to be a hazy memory. I want to be able to recall. Every. Last. Detail.”

She punctuates in between the words with little kisses up Yennefer’s arm, dropping the final one on her shoulder. Yennefer growls and pulls her in for another searing kiss, desperate for her to stay. Tissaia indulges for a moment but then pushes away, stepping back, panting, her lips wet and swollen.

“No. Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

Yennefer sighs but accepts her decision, “Don’t apologise. I understand. At least promise me I can see you again soon.”

“I promise. Thank you for understanding. I’m going to phone a taxi; can I leave my car here?”

Yennefer nods and makes herself stand at the opposite end of the room, so she isn’t tempted to pull Tissaia back into her arms while they wait. As the older woman is driven away, Yennefer tries to settle her heart rate, to ignore the throbbing between her legs. She touches her lips, bruised from Tissaia’s kisses. Examines the buttons dangling by threads on her jacket, the nail marks on her collarbone. Damn! Tissaia is small but she’s a hurricane when she’s aroused. Yennefer smiles and shakes her head – this is going to be one hell of a ride. She is certain of it.


	5. Surgical Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer visits Tissaia at work.  
> While I wouldn't advise drinking surgical spirit, it's still technically alcohol so our thematic chapter titles are intact...  
> Warning: mentions self-harm, depicts minor injuries

If Triss notices Yennefer moving stiffly or the missing chair she doesn’t mention it, which Yennefer is grateful for. She’s not ready to be teased about being cheated out of sex by a non-weightbearing piece of furniture. Truth be told, she’s feeling a little fragile after last night, it’s been a while since she drank that much wine. The mug of ginger tea clutched in her hands is doing little to soothe her headache or the bruise on her tailbone, and it just smells like Tissaia’s shampoo. Setting it down with a sigh she hears a van pull up outside the back door.

“Triss! It’s the veg delivery. Will you take it please?”

Triss appears from the pantry, patting her hair and straightening her apron. Yennefer smirks, it is entirely on purpose that she’s making Triss take this delivery. Her sous-chef has been mooning over the woman who runs the organic gardens that supply the restaurant and Yennefer is tired of her pretending otherwise. Their voices echo through from the carpark,

“Sabrina! Hi! What gorgeous artichokes!”

Yennefer rolls her eyes. No wonder they’re not making any headway if that’s the extent of the chat-up lines.

“Hello, Triss. Thanks, you should see the broccoli we’ve got growing just now.”

“Lovely weather.”

“Yes, very nice.”

“Umm, I should get back, lots of deliveries, you know…”

“Oh, of course, well, bye!”

Yennefer heaves a sigh of exasperation when the engine starts up, the van pulling away. Triss appears at the door with a crate of fresh produce and Yennefer scolds,

“I was about to come out there and smack your heads together. You should just ask her out, save us all from your sexually-charged assessments of the weather.”

Triss tries to look nonchalant but fails spectacularly, “I was not… we don’t…. do you think she’s into women?”

“She was wearing a plaid shirt and a gilet, of course she’s gay!”

“Don’t stereotype! She might dress that way because she works outside.”

“Ok, how about the way she twirls her ponytail when she’s talking to you? That’s got nothing to do with the outdoors.”

Triss looks simultaneously pleased and alarmed. Yennefer chuckles, patting her shoulder affectionately, “Come on, we’ll make a plan. There’ll be a spring wedding before you know it.”

They unpack the vegetables and start prepping for lunch. Yennefer is dicing onions when Triss asks,

“How’s it going with your hot doctor? The little scary one?”

“Tissaia’s not scary.” Triss snorts and Yennefer concedes, “Ok, maybe a tad frightening. But she’s soft too, she gets flustered if you flirt with her. And if you tease too far then she snaps and turns into this possessive, dominating…” Yennefer trails off, clears her throat, “Umm, it's going well.”

Triss smiles, “Yes, I can see that.”

Anyone else would have smirked but Triss is incapable of malice in any form. That being said Yennefer still blames her for what happens next. If she hadn’t been thinking about Tissaia she would have been concentrating and not let her knife slip. She sees the blood before she feels the pain and looks at her now crimson onions in confusion for a moment then howls in agony,

“You bastard! Ow, fuck! Triss, I’ve cut myself!”

She grabs the towel stuck in her apron-strings and wraps it round her hand. Feeling slightly woozy she turns to get the first aid kit but instead watches in fascination as the edge of the counter rushes up to meet her and everything goes black.

* * * *

There are times Tissaia loves this city. One of those times is Tuesday mornings because it means a) she’s invigorated after her day off and b) it’s a whole four days before the weekend surge of drunk casualties fills her emergency department. She’s had a quiet morning working her way through triage. Simple ailments with patients still upright and talking, no one bleeding out or flatlining. Surprisingly, she has escaped last night’s indulgences without a hangover and this stroke of luck only adds to her jollity. Humming a tune, she takes the next patient file in the queue and opens the cover to read the details. Her good mood evaporates in an instant and she grips the edge of the nurses’ station to remain upright. She hasn’t a clue if Yennefer’s surname is Vengerburg, but she does know ‘Yennefer’ is not a particularly common first name. Tissaia talks herself down; she has not been wheeled in unconscious on a gurney, she would not be sitting in triage if something awful had happened. Despite this pep-talk, her legendary self-control, and a natural tendency towards rationality, Tissaia’s hands are still trembling when she pulls back the curtains round the bed Yennefer has been assigned.

“It _is_ you! What happened?”

Tissaia does not immediately register the grim looking man in the corner so is a little taken aback when he stands and introduces himself gruffly,

“I’m Geralt. You must be the doctor Yenn won’t stop gushing about.”

Tissaia hastily checks there are none of her shadows lingering nearby. She does not want her personal life dragged through the canteen by a horde of barely post-pubescents.

“Doctor de Vries, but Tissaia is fine. Pleased to meet you, Geralt.”

Geralt only grunts in response and Tissaia finds he makes her nervous, something unsettling about his prematurely white hair and his irises which are a strange shade of brown, almost yellow. Yennefer suddenly notices Tissaia is in the cubicle and crows delightedly, slurring her words,

“Tissaia! I was hoping I’d see you here.”

Tissaia pumps a dollop of hand sanitizer from the bottle on the end of the bed and rubs it in, flicking her eyes over Yennefer gleaning information as she speaks,

“Hello, Yennefer. Can you tell me what happened?”

Yennefer stumbles over her words, her gaze unfocused, “I was chopping onions and I was thinking about… well, let’s just say I was distracted, and I cut my hand. Triss patched me up, Geralt carried me to the taxi and Jaskier screamed about the blood. Such a good team!” She punctuates this sentiment with an emphatic nod and winces, “Ouch! My head hurts…”

Tissaia turns to Geralt, “Has she been like this the whole time?”

Geralt grunts, “She’s been babbling since she came round. Triss bandaged her hand but Yenn wouldn’t let her look at the cut above her eye.”

“How long was she unconscious? Any vomiting?” Tissaia takes the little torch from her top pocket and checks Yennefer’s pupils, “Yennefer? Yennefer, I need you to follow my finger with your eyes.”

Yennefer just beams at her, fluttering her eyelashes, “You look gorgeous in scrubs! Which is strange because they’re basically weird pyjamas, but you make them shecksheey!”

That last adjective is unmistakeable even though it is slurred and Tissaia sighs, “I should fetch one of my colleagues. I’m not certain it’s appropriate for me to treat you.”

Yennefer’s arms snake out and wrap round her waist like a vice, “No! I want _you_ to look after me!”

Tissaia tries to prise herself free but to no avail. Taking a deep breath and summoning her sternest voice, she demands,

“Yennefer unhand me. I cannot treat you if you’re tangled around me like an octopus. Behave yourself, this instant!”

Yennefer withdraws and looks chastened, folding her hands demurely in her lap. Geralt shakes his head in disbelief,

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that!”

Tissaia adjusts her stethoscope and straightens her scrubs which have bunched up after Yennefer’s clinging,

“It’s all in the voice. And the eyebrows.”

With Yennefer finally compliant, Tissaia manages to finish her assessment and orders a CT scan. Once she’s ruled out anything serious from Yennefer’s head injury, she turns her attention to her hand. Her patient has quietened, a little groggy but no longer a babbling, handsy mess. Geralt steps out to phone Triss so Tissaia takes advantage of being unobserved to stroke some hair from Yennefer’s forehead,

“Are you feeling alright? That was quite a bump you took to your head.”

“Mmh. It hurts a bit and I’m sleepy.”

“I need you stay awake for me just now, ok? I’m going to have a look at your hand.”

Tissaia pulls on gloves and unwinds the bandaging Triss had applied to staunch the blood. The knife has sliced through the skin between her thumb and forefinger, not deep enough to damage any nerves or tendons thankfully but the network of blood vessels close to the skin means it’s still bleeding a fair bit.

“You’re going to need some stitches. I’ll just fetch a suturing kit.”

Yennefer squirms and bites her lower lip, her eyes wide, “Will it hurt?”

“No, I’ll numb your hand. There’s nothing to be worried about.” The professional in her tuts with disapproval when Tissaia adds, “I’ll look after you, trust me.”

Yennefer smiles blearily, “I do trust you.”

Tissaia tries to quell the pleasure this admission gives her, straightening her face into a neutral expression before stepping out of the cubicle.

When she returns, Geralt is back and chatting quietly to Yennefer, holding her hand lightly in his. His face softens when he’s with her, Tissaia notices, and when he smiles, she decides he isn’t frightening at all. Tissaia finds herself warming even further to him when he winks at her over Yennefer’s head, keeping the younger woman distracted so Tissaia can work on her hand. She sits the other side of the bed, injects the analgesic, and waits for it to take effect. Threading her needle, she gently pricks the skin to test if it’s numb. Yennefer doesn’t even notice, her attention still on Geralt. Tissaia nods in satisfaction and begins to work, drawing the edges of the cut neatly together with precise stitches. As she adjusts the position of Yennefer’s hand, her fingers catch on a raised edge along her wrist. Careful not to be obvious, she runs her fingers over it again and suddenly remembers Yennefer’s reaction to being asked about cutting herself. It’s so blindingly obvious now Tissaia can’t believe she missed the signs last night. There is only one scar, long and deep, a single attempt but purposeful and desperate. While the doctor in her knows that self-harm is never a simple case of cause-and-effect, Tissaia’s fierce protective streak is demanding to know _who_ is responsible for bringing Yennefer to such despair so that she may hunt them down and inflict great physical pain on them. She twists Yennefer’s hand to the side to access the curve round her thumb joint and continue her suturing. Tissaia can now see the scar, white and faded, a straight line with ragged silvery edges. Her chest aches and she must clench her jaw against the fury that someone, somewhere has hurt Yennefer. Now is not the time for that conversation however, and she focuses on her task. Clipping the last stitch neatly, she dabs some surgical spirit on cotton wool and cleans the cut, bandaging it up again in meticulous symmetrical layers.

“All done.”

Yennefer looks cheated and frowns, “You tricked me! I didn’t even notice you were doing it.”

“My dear, I can’t be held responsible for you being enthralled by this gentleman here.”

Geralt snorts and Tissaia smiles at him, just a subtle curl at the edge of her mouth, but enough to seal their newfound alliance. Yennefer looks between the two of them and pouts, “It was a mistake to let you two meet. You’re going to gang up on me now.”

“Only when it’s in your best interest. Now, let me see to that bump above your eye and then you can go home. Is there someone who can watch you for the next few hours?”

Geralt nods, “There’s a cot at the restaurant, we’ll set her up there and take it in turns to sit with her.”

“Good. My shift ends at six and I need to collect my car from the Wolf, so I can take over then and leave you free to handle the dinner rush.”

Yennefer growls, “I’m right here, will you stop talking about me as if I wasn’t?”

Her complaints morph into a hiss as Tissaia soaks more cotton wool in antiseptic and starts to dab at the laceration above Yennefer’s eyebrow, surrounded by a purpled bruise.

“Ow, bugger! That stings!”

“I’m sorry, pet. I need to clean it though.”

Yennefer bites back her next grievance because Tissaia calling her ‘pet’ has made her go all warm and fuzzy. Geralt leaves to call a taxi and seeing they are alone, Yennefer traces a finger up Tissaia’s arm, teasing. Using every shred of her self-will Tissaia manages to concentrate on closing the cut with steri-strips. Yennefer’s finger runs down Tissaia ribs,

“Where’s your white coat, Doctor de Vries?”

“Studies showed all that excess fabric collected infections. No one wears them anymore.”

Yennefer’s finger creeps up towards Tissaia’s chest, “That’s a shame…”

Tissaia exhales sharply through her nose, “Yennefer, if my hand slips, I will have to remove these strips and start again. Do you want an impromptu eyebrow wax?”

Yennefer removes her hand from Tissaia’s body but still murmurs, “You’re hot when you’re annoyed, makes me wonder how badly I could behave before you decided to punish me.”

Tissaia hurriedly applies the last strip and steps away, trying to subdue the blush creeping up from the neck of her scrubs. Geralt reappears and Tissaia is profoundly relieved to be rescued. As they leave, Tissaia cleans her glasses on her scrub top trying to recompose herself. She will take a major traffic incident with multiple critical casualties over a concussed, uninhibited Yennefer any day. The woman is a complete liability, even when her mental faculties are intact, let alone after a bump to the head. But Tissaia has to smile when she realises that, already, she has come to think of Yennefer as _her_ liability, _her_ bundle of chaos.

* * * *

Later that night, Tissaia collects both her car and a sleepy Yennefer, driving them to Yennefer’s flat. Once Yennefer is in her pyjamas and settled in bed, she waits expectantly for Tissaia to join her, but the older woman shakes her head.

“You’re meant to be resting. I’ll take the sofa.”

“We can just sleep; nothing has to happen.”

Tissaia shakes her head again, “You’ll sleep better without me distracting you. And I need to be up early, I don’t want to disturb you. I’m right next door if you need anything though.”

She presses a kiss to Yennefer’s forehead and turns out the light. Then makes her way to the sofa, squeamishly brushing away a stray single sock from it. She eases a little however when she sees the bathroom is spotless. And the duvet and pillow she found in the airing cupboard smell of washing powder, so she contents herself that the place is clean even if it is not particularly tidy. Tissaia has no idea how long she has been asleep when a scream wakes her. Fumbling for her glasses and disoriented by the unfamiliar room it takes her a moment to find her feet and rush to Yennefer’s bedroom. She flicks on the lamp, half-expecting to find her clutching her head with a ruptured aneurism. But it is just a nightmare. Tissaia’s relief is short-lived however as Yennefer emits another scream and starts to shake in terror, fighting the bedsheets. Forcing her awake will only disorient her further so Tissaia waits, making sure she does not hurt herself thrashing about, hating that she can do nothing to alleviate her distress. At last, Yennefer wakes, groggy and anxious.

“Tissaia?”

“I’m here. Hush, it was only a dream.”

She climbs onto the bed and takes Yennefer in her arms, stroking her back gently, murmuring,

“That’s it. You’re safe now, I’ve got you. Hush, pet.”

Yennefer is furious with herself when the tears come, she does not want Tissaia to see her a blubbering, snotty mess. But Tissaia cradles her, lies back with her in her arms and presses kisses to her hair,

“You cry all you want, my dear. Time enough for everything else later.”

Yennefer is still trembling so Tissaia reaches for the book on the nightstand and smiles when she sees the cover,

“The Wolf and Swallow. How very fortuitous, I was told just yesterday I should read this.”

Yennefer manages a weak smile as she opens it to the first page. Tissaia reads until her voice is hoarse, until Yennefer has finally drifted off. And then, careful not to dislodge her from her arms, she turns the light out. This is not how she imagined spending her first night in Yennefer’s bed, but it is far from unpleasant. She savours the solid warmth of the younger woman against her chest, her hair fanning across Tissaia’s sternum, something sweet and tart drifting up from the raven curls. Just as Tissaia feels her eyelids growing heavy she hears Yennefer murmur,

“Don’t leave me, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Tissaia sighs and shuts her eyes. It has been a strange day, raising many questions that will need answers. But, for now, this is enough. More than enough.


	6. Gin (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier decides it's time Yennefer took Tissaia on a proper date.  
> Rating change: Explicit for this chapter and the next

Tissaia wakens gradually, her limbs pleasantly heavy and her eyelids fluttering open slowly. It is dark except for the sepia glow of the streetlamp outside the window filtering in through the curtains. Squinting at the neon digits on the alarm clock, she has another twenty minutes or so before she needs to start getting ready. The room is cold but she can hear the cranking and whistling of the boiler so the heating will kick in soon. In that strange way that happens when you first wake, she processes all this in a matter of seconds, senses transmitting instantly to her now fully conscious brain. The next thing she notices is that Yennefer’s thigh has slid in between her own and is making her uncomfortably sensitive. Her cheek is pressed against Tissaia’s chest, mouth inches away from a nipple and her hand curled round her ribs, thumb just brushing the underside of a breast through the sleep shirt she had borrowed. It would be so easy to wind her hands in Yennefer’s hair and start rocking against her. And oh, it is tempting! Tissaia doubts Yennefer would mind, she’d probably enjoy being woken up like that to be honest. But it is not how she wants to begin things; she wants Yennefer looking into her eyes and awake enough to hear all the things Tissaia plans to whisper in her ear. And so, ignoring the throb between her legs, Tissaia wriggles out from Yennefer’s grip and vacates the bed. Her next battle is in the shower where she resists the urge to bring about necessary but unsatisfying release. This is ridiculous! She’s not a prude but she’s never had a particularly high libido, certainly not without a specific partner to be the focus of her desire. This all-consuming ache between her thighs and only her own company is an unfamiliar situation. A quick session in the shower might ease the tension but she wants Yennefer goddamn it, not her own hand. So, by the time she is dressed and ready to leave she is in a foul mood; wound up far too tight and a little embarrassed.

Which is unfortunate for poor Jaskier who is next on duty to watch Yennefer and commits the cardinal sin of being late. The glare she flashes from hooded eyes beneath pinched brows flattens him against the wall as she strides out the door. He delivers a snarky shout after her retreating figure,

“Nice to meet you too!”

then shuts the door, muttering to himself about frigid lesbian psychos. Yennefer is lamenting the empty pillows next to her when Jaskier appears with a coffee and banana.

“Morning sleeping beauty! That witch said to make sure you ate something. Please tell me you plan on fucking her soon because, my god, does she need it!”

“You’ve never even met her!”

“She just tried to castrate me with a single look on her way out. You haven’t got yourself entangled with a man-hating, rampant feminist, have you?”

“Castration? Hah! As if you had the balls in the first place!”

“Bitch!”

Anyone listening to their exchange of insults may have expected a full-blown argument to ensue but Yennefer only grins and throws her arms round Jaskier who returns the hug, wriggling the two of them side-to-side as he does so.

“It’s good to see you, Jaskier.”

“I’ve missed you too honey, everyone is so _serious_ when you’re not at the restaurant.”

He plonks himself on the bed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his fists, a lascivious look on his face,

“So, tell me everything. Is it wonderfully hot? Sickeningly romantic? Details, darling, _details!_ ”

Yennefer grins and takes a bite of her banana before replying, “She’s my soulmate.”

Jaskier snorts, “Are you certain you didn’t sustain brain damage yesterday?”

Yennefer smacks him lightly across the head but grows serious, “It’s terrifying, Jaskier. She’s already seen more of me than I’ve ever shown anyone else. I was a sobbing, uncontrollable mess in her arms last night. The dreams…”

She trails off, and Jaskier takes her hand but says nothing, he does not need to. Yennefer clears her throat and continues,

“You know I can never sleep after them, never. But I did last night. And I don’t think I’ve ever waited this long before having sex with someone. You know me - in and out, pleasure doing business with you. But this… she makes me want to be the best version of myself. And, even crazier, she makes me believe I _can_ be.”

Jaskier whistles in surprise, draws her into another hug,

“This one’s bowled you over huh? Well, we need to make sure she stays then. Lord knows, you deserve a keeper this time.”

Yennefer smiles at him and is eternally grateful when he holds her at arm’s length to exclaim,

“Right! This is now my sole aim in life. We are going to make that ice-queen melt right into your hands, and I don’t mean that in a disgusting, lady-juice way! First things first, we need somewhere she can let her hair down, blow of some steam, relax enough to let you sweep her off her feet and into a bed. Because let’s own it babe, bed is where you do your best work!”

This tirade is delivered in his characteristically flamboyant manner and would be laughable if Yennefer didn’t know Jaskier is highly effective once he’s set his mind to something. Hell, this was the man who had finally convinced Geralt to come out. Which is how, about thirty minutes later, Yennefer finds herself with two Saturday-night tickets to _The Chameleon_ (the most popular gay club in town) and an online order of new lingerie. Jaskier surveys the computer screen and her depleted bank account with pride,

“My work here is done. Now all you need to do is make her agree to go with you. And judging by the state she was in after a night lying next to you, I’d say she won’t take much convincing.”

Yennefer swats his arm, “Don’t be cruel about her. She’s incredibly kind once you get to know her.”

“All I’m saying is, first impressions count.”

“You just caught her at a bad time. Geralt liked her.”

“Yes, well they’re both stick-up-the-backside repressed idiots who like to terrorize others.”

“And yet, they choose people like us…”

“Please, _they’re_ the lucky ones. We’re hot-stuff you and I.”

“Alright, you go ahead and pretend you’re not madly in love with _your_ grim control-freak. I’m under no illusions about _mine_.”

Jaskier scoffs but his eyes grow soft, “I’ve never heard you say you love someone before.”

Yennefer smiles, burying her face in her hands, because it is true – she is beyond trying to deny it. She has fallen in love with Tissaia. And what is terrifyingly wonderful is the realisation that she is not afraid.

* * * *

There are times Tissaia hates this city. And one of those time is Saturday afternoons in the town centre. Normally she steers clear, but she wants to get her hair trimmed and the salon in the big shopping centre is one of the few places that doesn’t require an appointment. As she elbows her way through the crowds, avoiding children throwing tantrums and Deliveroo cyclists swerving between pedestrians, she clenches her jaw in frustration. It had taken a great deal of negotiating to arrange a half-day today. Despite that, she is still running hopelessly late for her date tonight. In five hours, she is to meet Yennefer and the rational part of her is shaking its head in disgust that it will take that long to get ready. But the nerve-wracked, dizzyingly excited part knows it will take at least four outfits before she feels confident, and she needs to shave her legs and dig out her contact lenses and do her makeup and practice walking in heels and, and, and… The hairdresser must sense her impending breakdown because she swaps the background techno music for Classic FM and agrees to slot her in even though it’s almost closing time. With her freshly washed and styled hair, Tissaia is loath to squeeze onto the underground so instead splashes out on a taxi. When the driver compliments her on her hair she smiles and tells him she is going on a date tonight. Some part of her is staring at herself in open-mouthed shock – who is this woman and why is she telling complete strangers about her personal life? He winks at her in his rear-view mirror,

“He’s a lucky bloke then!”

Tissaia can’t believe her nerve when she corrects him, “Actually, she’s a woman.”

His eyebrows raise and she waits to be thrown out of the car but his face splits into a broad grin, “Well that is just wonderful! I love hearing about that sort of thing, makes me proud to live here. Here’s my card, if you ladies need a lift home tonight, I’d be honoured to drive you.”

Tissaia considers reaching through the plexiglass partition to hug him but settles for taking his business card from the tray where cash gets handed over.

“Thank you, you don’t know how much it means to hear you say that. I… I remember a time when it wasn’t the sort of reaction you’d get.”

“Me too, hen. People saw sense eventually though. ‘Love whoever the fuck you want and fuck whoever you love’ is what I say!”

Tissaia chuckles, there are times she loves this city…

* * * *

Yennefer scowls at herself in the mirror. It should not be this difficult to get dressed. There is a haphazard pile of discarded clothes on her bed threatening to avalanche onto the floor and she nearly breaks an ankle tripping over several pairs of shoes scattered around her. She hasn’t seen Tissaia in person since the night she’d slept over. They’ve chatted on the phone and had a video call, but Yennefer is very aware that the last time Tissaia _saw_ her she was snotty and vulnerable. Too vulnerable for Yennefer’s liking if she is honest. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Tissaia or that she regrets opening up to her, but it feels as though they are now on an unequal footing somehow. And so, this outfit must not only make her look gorgeous it has to make her feel powerful. She rules out heels immediately, she doesn’t want to tower over Tissaia because that would just be inconsiderate (although more than a little amusing as well). And it’s too cold for a dress without thick tights, which no one has ever managed to make look sexy. Sheer nylons with seams might be hot but they sure as heck aren’t warm. So, trousers it is. She slips into a pair of black flared ones, soft and stretchy, moulding to her body. They ride just below her belly button and cling down all the way to mid-calves before flaring out. She’s tall enough to make the flares work and her narrow hips carry the low-slung waist well. They curve nicely round her bottom, her new thong discreet enough not to show up through the clinging fabric, and they’ll work with boots rather than heels. Yes, she thinks, these ones. Now for a top. She tries button down shirts, blouses, crop-tops, flinging garments left, right and centre. At last, she spies in the back of the wardrobe a top she’d forgotten she owns. She pulls it out and bites her lower lip, is it too racy? Then she decides fuck it, it’s Saturday night at _The Chameleon_ , there are no limits. And when she puts it on, she knows this is the one. It’s a black satin halter-neck scattered here and there with roses of dusky-red lace. The collar is black leather, fastened with an ornate silver clip at her throat and the back is non-existent except for a band that buckles round her waist. It’s tight-fitting, she doesn’t need a bra it holds her in place so well and is secure enough round her ribs and under her arms to not feel like she’s about to flash everyone. The final detail makes her lick her lips at the possibilities that might be explored later tonight – the narrow slit between the collar and her solar plexus is closed by black satin bows, begging to be undone. Yes. She looks good but more importantly, she _feels_ good. Yennefer pulls on her black boots, the nice ones with the silver buckles, not her everyday bike ones. Slips on a figure-hugging jacket, the leather cool against her bare back, and ruffles her hair into cascading curls. A dusky red lipstick to match the roses on her top, thick, dark kohl round her eyes, two dabs of her signature scent at her pulse points and she is ready. For anything.

 _The Chameleon_ is in an old Victorian bank, marble columns and iron-railed stairs leading up to the doors with brass lion-head knockers. Rainbow flags proudly mark the entrance, the leaded arched windows flickering with chasing LED colours of every hue. There is always a queue to get in, but it moves quickly, and the bouncers are firm but polite. Yennefer takes her place at the back of the line, hoping Tissaia arrives by the time she reaches the front. Sure enough, bang on time, Yennefer sees her across the pavement. She chuckles when Tissaia, unaware she is being observed, checks her wristwatch and nods in satisfaction before stepping out to cross the road. Yennefer waves to catch her attention and tries not to begrudge the winter coat that is currently hiding whatever Tissaia is wearing from her. She joins Yennefer in the queue and presses a kiss to her cheek, linking their hands with a smug expression. Yennefer smiles down at her,

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

“Because I’m the one who gets to hold your hand in this queue.”

Yennefer is speechless for a moment then lifts Tissaia’s hand to kiss the back of it, hoping it conveys everything she does not have the words for. Tissaia smiles with the little curl at the corner of her mouth, the one that always makes Yennefer’s heart do a summersault. She suddenly notices Tissaia isn’t wearing her glasses and that she can see flecks of grey and green in her blue eyes. And her hair is down, something different about it, little waves in it catching the light and glinting chestnut, auburn, in amongst the usual dark chocolate colour. Yennefer realises she’s staring and clears her throat, 

“How was work?”

“Good, thank you. And I managed to get tomorrow off so I’m yours all night. What’s happening with the restaurant?”

“Triss is holding the fort, and she’s roped Sabrina into helping so really we’re doing them a favour. I can’t remember the last time I had a weekend off.”

“Me neither. Saturday night is usually all about the fallout of other people’s fun.”

They reach the bouncer who checks their tickets and their handbags before waving them through. Rainbow silks have been hung in a canopy above what used to be the foyer, a massive chandelier suspended in the centre of it. At the cloak room they hand over their coats and bags, Tissaia retrieving her cigarettes and lighter first. As Yennefer takes off her jacket, Tissaia pauses rooting through her handbag and exclaims in a breathy voice,

“ _Fuck._ ”

Yennefer has never heard her say anything more vulgar than ‘bastards’ and she’s certainly never dropped the f-bomb, not even when enraged. She smirks,

“Are you alright?”

“I may need an ambulance. The sight of you in that top is literally heart-stopping.”

Yennefer leans in to murmur against the shell of her ear, “I’m sure I can get it going again without medical intervention.” She presses her fingers to Tissaia’s pulse point and hums in delight at the frantic hammering she feels under the skin, “See? All better.”

Tissaia pushes her away and slips her cigarettes into a back pocket before undoing the belt on her jacket slowly and pulling it off. Yennefer’s breath hitches and her fingers flex subconsciously, eager to reach out and touch. Tissaia is in a white button-down shirt, cuffs firmly fastened, and collar done up. But the fabric is sheer, diaphanous, and floaty, hinting at something white and lacy underneath, shadowy contours suggesting smooth curves and supple muscles. It’s the most Tissaia-esque thing Yennefer has ever seen – prim and unrevealing at first glance but enticing possibilities glimpsed here and there if you look long enough. Simple blue jeans, tight-fitting, hug round her curves and down her legs, disappearing into knee-high black suede boots with wedge heels. As Tissaia turns to hand over her coat, Yennefer feels her knees buckle. The boots lace up along the back of her calves, from ankle all the way up to the back of her knee, intricately criss-crossed and tied with a neat bow at the top. How can _shoelaces_ be wreaking this much havoc on her? All she knows is she wants to undo them painfully slowly, possibly with her teeth. Tissaia arches an eyebrow when she turns back round, holds out her hand,

“Shall we, my dear?”

Through an archway leads to a large open-plan area with lots of sofas and booths surrounding a massive gleaming bar all chrome and glass surfaces. Yennefer asks,

“Have you been before?”

Tissaia shakes her head, “Not to this one.”

“This is the main drinking area, there’s a mezzanine up there and a balcony to smoke on. Through there is the bathroom and then down those stairs is the basement with the dancefloor. Where do you want to go first?”

“Anywhere that will give me gin.”

Yennefer laughs and pulls her towards the bar. The bartenders are an assortment of women in shaggy haircuts and waistcoats, shirtless men in braces and some perfectly ordinary-looking people in black t-shirts with chameleon logos on them. Yennefer hands Tissaia a balloon goblet of pink gin and tonic, clinking with star-shaped ice cubes, a glittery reusable spiral straw and paper rainbow parasol stuck in it. Tissaia blinks at it for a moment,

“That is the campest drink I have ever seen.”

“Isn’t it fabulous?”

A gorgeous drag-queen slinks past them, all sequins and feathers, followed by a stag party in kilts and an old-school butch in a tie and slicked back hair. Tissaia smiles, feeling like she has come home after a very long time away,

“Fabulous is exactly the word for it.”


	7. Gin (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia and Yennefer move things from the club to Tissaia's flat.  
> Rating change: Explicit for this chapter

Half-way through their first gin, Tissaia hears a song she likes and grabs Yennefer by the hand, dragging her down to the basement. Yennefer had fully expected to be the one coaxing Tissaia onto the dancefloor, but the older woman walks backwards, her arm outstretched, pulling Yennefer into the crowd, swaying her hips and Yennefer is powerless to do anything but follow her. The music has a slow, throbbing beat, bass reverberating through the floor and the coloured lights pulse, flashes of clarity glimpsed amongst the dim haze of the smoke machine. The press of bodies round them fills the air with a sparking energy, hot and alive, dozens of heartbeats all pumping with anticipation and the thrill of being close to another human being. It is easy to lose yourself in crowds like this but Tissaia’s hand anchors Yennefer, gives her a point to focus on and, eager for more, she slides her other hand round Tissaia’s waist. She can feel the heat of her skin through the soft material of her shirt, the dip in the small of her back, the corded muscles up her spine shifting under Yennefer’s palm as her hips sway. Tissaia keeps one hand holding hers, intertwining their fingers, and runs the other up Yennefer’s arm to her bare shoulder, curling round it before swirling down her spine. The featherlight touches of her fingertips skimming Yennefer’s skin is intoxicating, Yennefer’s pulse quickens so violently she feels dizzy and a delicious shiver makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As the beat of the music intensifies, Tissaia’s swaying becomes more forceful, her hips undulating in a teasing rhythm, a second of pressure against Yennefer’s and then drawn back again, another scorching moment of contact and then lifted away, leaving Yennefer’s body aching for more. Just as Yennefer is summoning the wherewithal to pull her closer, Tissaia encircles her waist with an arm and moves slowly round until she is pressed against Yennefer’s back. Even with heels she’s still only tall enough to reach the nape of Yennefer’s neck but when she pulls her black hair aside and presses her lips right above the leather collar, Yennefer decides she is the perfect height. Yennefer’s head falls forward and she grabs Tissaia’s hands to settle them on her hips, needing them there to stop her melting onto the floor at Tissaia’s feet. Tissaia grips her, sliding one hand down the outside of her thigh, her mouth still hot and damp against Yennefer’s neck. They sway and bend through the otherworldly swirl of dark smoke, flashes of light and other people’s limbs.

The music shifts to something smooth and sultry rather than the insistent beat of before. Yennefer turns in Tissaia’s hands to face her, draping her arms over her shoulders, hooking her hands together round the back of her neck, leans her forehead against hers. They move in a slow circle, the searing urgency from earlier cooling into a languid heat, revelling in the closeness of their bodies, the way they can feel each other breathing. Tissaia leans in to be heard over the music,

“I need a cigarette after all that. Coming?”

“I want to get another drink first. Do you want one?”

“Same again. No umbrella or straw though, I prefer my eyeballs unimpaled.”

They leave the dancefloor, hands still interlocked from when they first came down the stairs. At the bar, Yennefer is tempted to plunge her head into the ice bucket to regain some of her senses. She’s not sure what she was expecting but her wildest imaginings did not come even slightly close to the reality of being ravished by Tissaia on a dancefloor. Yennefer shivers as she climbs the stairs to the mezzanine and makes her way to the balcony, a drink in each hand. Between the ice in the glasses and the cold air drifting in from the open doors, she’s bloody cold, especially after the heat of the basement. Tissaia is alone on the balcony, standing on one leg, leaning back against the wall, blowing smoke into the air.

“One pink gin and tonic, sans tacky accessories.”

“Thanks. Would you like one?”

Tissaia holds out her packet of cigarettes and Yennefer shakes her head. She’s not really a smoker, she just likes watching Tissaia. Tissaia stubs the cigarette she’s just finished and pulls another one from the blue foil packet,

“You can have some of mine if you don’t want a whole one?”

Yennefer’s stomach drops but she pulls herself together and nods. She even finds the courage to stop Tissaia’s hands, taking the fresh cigarette from her and holding it up, waiting for Tissaia to part her lips and allow Yennefer to slip it in. Yennefer lights it for her, standing close enough to shield the flame with her body rather than cupping her hands round it. Tissaia eyes her up and down, a hand coming up to rest lazily on her hip. Once it is lit, Tissaia takes a long drag then grips Yennefer’s chin in her thumb and forefinger, pulling her mouth down to seal their lips together and exhales, the warm smoke filling Yennefer’s lungs. Tissaia’s tongue follows the smoke and they kiss, the forgotten cigarette smoking itself in her fingers. Yennefer tugs at Tissaia’s lower lip with her teeth, curls her tongue up underneath the upper one. They are interrupted by a group of men spilling onto the balcony, judging by their kilts they’re from the stag party and one of them wolf-whistles. Yennefer buries her face in Tissaia’s shoulder chuckling and Tissaia takes a long drag of her cigarette before stubbing it out and rolling her eyes. They go back indoors, politely shaking their heads at the offers to join the stags. Yennefer spies a smaller dancefloor off to the side and grins wickedly,

“Come on, I’ve seen something I want to do.”

She pulls Tissaia into the side-room and bounds onto the platform in the centre with a pole running floor to ceiling. A young man, shirtless but wearing skinny jeans and stilettos is sliding round it, his muscles bulging, and blonde curly hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His audience is a mix of all genders and orientations, everyone entranced by him. Yennefer slinks up to him, asking permission with her raised eyebrows and he nods, holding out his hand. They start to move together, up and down the pole, gyrating and grinding against one another. He does the splits and Yennefer drags him back up by the tie round his neck, she presses her bottom against his groin as he grabs the pole and strains against it. Yennefer knows Tissaia is watching, the entire room is watching, and it feels _good_. She feels powerful, knowing all these people are watching her and desiring her. The man knows there is nothing in it, she knows there is nothing in it, but the pretence is all the more thrilling because there are no real consequences to it. The music ends and the crowd applauds, Yennefer and the blonde man leaving the platform for someone else to have a go. As she steps off, she feels someone grip her wrist hard and she is pulled into a dark corner, pressed up against the wall. Tissaia’s eyes are narrow, her nostrils flaring. Yennefer smiles seductively,

“Did you enjoy that? Did it feel good to _watch_?”

She knows this is dangerous territory, knows this could all go horribly wrong but there is a hunger in Tissaia’s eyes that Yennefer craves and now that it is there, she needs it to be released. Tissaia presses a thigh in between hers, lightly circles her throat with her hand and growls into her ear,

“ _Mine._ Mine, pet, don’t forget that.”

Yennefer presses a kiss to her pulse point, “Yours, Tissaia. Don’t you know that yet?”

The angry glint in Tissaia’s eyes dims, the crease in between her eyebrows smooths and she breathes into Yennefer’s ear,

“Take me home, Yennefer. Now.” 

* * * *

It is raining so heavily when they exit the taxi that even the short run to the door soaks their hair and leaves raindrops trickling down their faces. Yennefer could not have described Tissaia’s flat if her life depended on it. She knows there is a front door. Mainly because she shoves Tissaia against it as soon as it is closed, weaving her hands into her thick brown hair, kissing her with an urgency that borders on desperation. Tissaia gasps underneath the ferocity of her kisses, fumbling with the zipper on Yennefer’s jacket and tearing it from her so she can rake her nails down Yennefer’s bare back. Yennefer spins Tissaia so her front is pressed against the door, snakes her hands round and undoes the belt on her jacket, pulls it from her shoulders but leaves it at the crook of her elbows, pinning her arms to her sides. Tiptoes her fingers up to her neck and undoes the button holding her collar shut and the button below it. With the collar loose enough, she pulls it away from Tissaia’s neck and sucks on the skin between it and her shoulder hard enough to bruise. Tissaia groans,

“Bedroom. Not here.”

Yennefer spins her again, making her lean back against the door then kneels. Keeping her eyes locked on Tissaia’s she gently lifts one of her ankles and settles it on her shoulder. Reaches up along her calf and undoes the bow behind her knee, pulling the laces through the eyelets slowly, deliberately. There is a zip, but Yennefer wants to savour this, wants to watch as Tissaia comes a little further undone with every inch of lace pulled loose. When at last it is unlaced, Yennefer eases the boot off her leg kissing the bare skin between her sock and trouser cuff. Once both feet are free, Yennefer steps away and picks up the scattered jackets hanging them neatly on the coat-stand, tidying her boots and Tissaia’s into the shoe rack. Normally she would not give a damn about the mess, but something tells her this is important to Tissaia and sure enough, the older woman’s eyes are soft with gratitude when she turns back to her. Tissaia takes her hand and leads her through the flat to an airy bedroom with a large bed sporting fluffy white pillows and crisp sheets, the duvet looking gloriously soft. A lamp flicks on and fills the room with a warm, soft glow. Tissaia leads her to sit on the edge of the bed and leans over to the bedside drawers, opening one. Yennefer considers herself an adventurous lover but even she thinks it’s a little early in the proceedings to be pulling out the toys. And judging by how damp her thong is, she certainly isn’t going to need lube. Eyeing Tissaia warily, Yennefer holds her breath as she roots through the drawer for whatever she is seeking. When she turns back round and Yennefer see what she’s holding in her hands, she cannot help the laugh that escapes her. Tissaia looks confused,

“What’s so funny about a hairdryer? I didn’t want you to get cold and uncomfortable with wet hair.”

Yennefer chuckles and pulls her into an embrace, wrapping her arms round her waist, leaning her cheek against her belly.

“You precious thing. What did I do to deserve you?”

Tissaia’s eyes widen suddenly in understanding, “You thought I was getting a toy, didn’t you?”

The blush that creeps up her cheeks is rather endearing and Yennefer smiles fondly up at her, “Not that I’d be averse to it. I want the chance to learn _you_ tonight though. Only you.”

Tissaia smiles and pushes gently at her shoulder to make her turn around. She plugs in the hairdryer and runs her hands through Yennefer’s curls, wafting the warm air through them, caressing her scalp, nails grazing ever so slightly. It’s the most caring thing anyone has ever done for her and Yennefer leans back into her touch, feeling cherished and so, so safe. When her hair is dry, they swap places and Yennefer gets to marvel at the silkiness of Tissaia’s waves, inhaling deeply trying to lock the scent of ginger and tea-tree and tobacco within her lungs. When every strand is warm and soft, she sets the hairdryer to the side and crawls back onto the bed, so she is lying propped up on an elbow with Tissaia sat cross-legged on front of her. Tissaia shifts and straddles her, her thighs either side of Yennefer’s waist and cups her face. Leans down to kiss her, slow and languid, flicking her tongue round her upper lip before easing inside and sliding against Yennefer’s. She pulls away and Yennefer protests but goes silent when Tissaia reaches up and starts to undo the buttons on her own shirt. Her chest and abdomen appear slowly, shoulders and collarbones and forearms revealed as she pulls it from her body and drops it over the side of the bed. Tissaia bends to kiss Yennefer again, guiding her hands up to touch her sides, her back, her belly. As Yennefer’s palms eagerly map her out, Tissaia undoes the satin bows on her top and slips her finger through the slit to graze against a rib, a collarbone, a nipple. Yennefer moans and sits up, dragging Tissaia’s fingers to the clasp at her throat, the buckle at her back, she needs Tissaia’s hands on her bare skin _now_ or she may go mad. Tissaia unclasps the collar, something darkening in her eyes, and then slips her fingers round to undo the buckle. The satin falls from Yennefer like water now that is no longer held in place, flowing down her torso and pooling in her lap. Yennefer unhooks Tissaia’s bra and pulls it from her, lips parting as her heavy breasts spring free, rosy nipples perking. Before Yennefer gets a chance to touch though Tissaia pushes her back down on the bed and presses her thumbs against Yennefer’s mocha nipples, pulling downwards and releasing them, repeating the action over and over until it borders on painful as her mouth works against Yennefer’s collarbones, nipping little marks across the skin.

When her hand slips past the waistband of Yennefer’s trousers, Yennefer stiffens momentarily then arches into her touch, beyond caring if it looks needy. Tissaia twists her fingers past the thong, drawing them through the wet folds and damp curls underneath. She hums in appreciation,

“God, you’re so wet!”

Yennefer gasps, “For you. All evening I’ve been like this.”

Tissaia flashes a predatorial smile and starts to circle Yennefer’s nub, building in pressure gradually until Yennefer is panting, clawing at her back,

“Stop! I won’t last, I’m so close.”

And it is true, she is embarrassingly close to climaxing and they haven’t even taken off their trousers yet, Tissaia still looking utterly composed apart from the flush creeping up from her chest to her neck and the dilation of her pupils. Tissaia just smiles again and whispers into Yennefer’s ear,

“Oh my dear, we’re just getting started.” She increases the speed of her circles, rubbing side-to-side as she does, and Yennefer starts to tremble. Tissaia murmurs, “Hush, pet, don’t fight it. Come for me.”

And Yennefer does as she is told, her back snapping off the bed, head thrown back, tendons in her neck strung taught as a fiddle and a ragged moan escaping her. Tissaia give her a moment before pulling her trousers off, tracing her tongue down the path her waistband takes then sliding back up her body. Yennefer is still shaken from her orgasm but the stubbornness in her flares and, with a growl, she locks her legs round Tissaia’s hips and flips them, pinning her down. She unbuttons her jeans and drags them and her lacy panties down her legs, throwing them dramatically through the air when they are free, making Tissaia giggle. Her laughs are smothered as Yennefer kisses her, rolling her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, sliding a thigh in between to press against her centre making Tissaia moan. Yennefer’s mouth travels downwards, tongue curling round a nipple and fingers massaging, pulling more of her breast into her mouth, lips sucking fervently. Tissaia shivers when Yennefer tugs at her with her teeth and Yennefer stores this information for later. She discovers every inch of her skin with her mouth and hands, searching for what makes Tissaia tremble, what makes her gasp. There is a spot above her hipbone that makes her cry out when Yennefer sucks at it and another along her side, under her bottom rib that makes her shiver and mewl. Tissaia's hands tug at her hair, wanting her back up to kiss and Yennefer complies but not before she rolls them so they’re on their sides, Tissaia leaning against her, Yennefer’s arm hooked under hers and round her shoulder to support her. She bends Tissaia’s thigh up round her hip and skims her hand down between them to cup her. Tissaia’s eyes shut and her head falls backwards, groaning

“Yennefer!”

Yennefer enquires innocently, “Yes?”

Tissaia frowns, gasping, “Touch me.”

Yennefer smirks, this is payback for earlier and she is going to enjoy it, “I am touching you.”

Tissaia whines and clutches at Yennefer’s shoulders, “Put your fingers inside me.”

“Ask me nicely.”

Tissaia frowns again and tries to rock against her hand but Yennefer pulls away, biting gently at the side of her neck. Tissaia sighs and whispers,

“Please. I want you inside me, I want you to touch me and make me forget everything but your name.”

Yennefer tries to hide just how much hearing Tissaia say those things has made her burn inside, but she cannot help her hips bucking against Tissaia’s in response. Tissaia senses her arousal building once more and shifts so she can touch her too, slipping her fingers inside Yennefer as Yennefer does the same for her. Tissaia’s slick inner muscles jump at her touch, the clinging heat quivering as Yennefer strokes, beckons. They rock against one another, straining, hips rutting to meet thrusting hands, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked and mouths gasping for breath. Wanton and desperate, every cell of their bodies reaching down towards the tension in their abdomens, twisting tighter and tighter. Yennefer feels herself peaking and pants against Tissaia’s ear,

“Come with me, let go Tissaia, let go.”

The result is radiant, her walls clenching over and over, wetness trickling down Yennefer’s wrist, a high-pitched cry,

“Yennefer!”

Yennefer works her through the aftershocks, gently thrusting and rubbing, delighting in the way her own walls grip Tissaia’s fingers still, reluctant to release her. When at last, they come down and can breathe again, Tissaia laughs a little and presses a kiss to Yennefer’s mouth,

“Oh, my dear… that was certainly worth the wait.”

Yennefer grins and rolls her onto her back, shifting down her body, hooking her thighs up over her shoulders, “We’re not done yet.”

Tissaia groans dramatically, “Oh the vigour of youth!”

Yennefer swats her stomach and murmurs against her navel, “All you have to do is lie there. Besides, I owe you an orgasm.”

“It’s not a competition.”

Yennefer nips the inside of her thigh, “There’s something you should know about me; _everything_ is a competition.”

Tissaia scoffs, “Why am I not surprised?” but her retort fades into a gasp as Yennefer’s tongue flattens and licks up her folds, slippery, muscular flicks against her nub, swirling through the hot wetness. Tissaia buries her hand in Yennefer’s hair fanning across her hips and keens low in her throat, clutching the pillows above her head. It does not take long, and Yennefer looks smug as she raises her mouth, slick and shiny. Tissaia crooks her finger at her and Yennefer crawls back up her body, taking her in her arms. Tissaia rests for a moment then sits up,

“I’m going to brush my teeth. The bathroom is through there by the way, and I got you a toothbrush.”

“Always so prepared.”

Tissaia gives a three-fingered salute, “Once a girl scout, always a girl scout.”

Yennefer nods seriously, “Well it’s not often you get a girl who salutes you after you make her come.”

She chuckles as a pillow gets thrown at her and lies back, stretching languidly, muscles aching but in a good way. When Tissaia returns, Yennefer also visits the bathroom before snuggling into the bed, lying on her side watching as Tissaia retrieves her glasses and sets them carefully on the nightstand. Then delicately dabs out her contact lenses, rinsing them and setting them to soak in the case. Despite everything they have just shared, Yennefer still finds this moment incredibly intimate, something vulnerable in Tissaia relinquishing her unimpaired vision. As she gets under the covers and turns to face her, Yennefer asks,

“Am I just a blob now?”

Tissaia smiles, “No. I can see your shape. But the details are fuzzy, I can’t see where your nose is.”

Yennefer reaches for her hand and guides her index finger until it lands on her nose, Tissaia giggles and starts to trace Yennefer’s face, her gaze unfocused, finding her features with her fingertips. Yennefer lifts her finger and does the same, tracing her arching eyebrows, her sharp jaw and dimpled chin. She brushes against a thin scar down the side of Tissaia’s nose, normally hidden by the bridge of her glasses.

“What’s this?”

Tissaia’s eyes flutter briefly, “Nothing I want to remember tonight.”

Yennefer removes her finger and does not press for details, she of all people knows that most scars are not happy souvenirs. Tissaia sighs and presses a gentle, almost chaste, kiss to Yennefer’s lips then nestles into her neck, wrapping her arms round her.

“Goodnight, Yennefer.”

Yennefer replies, “Night, Tissaia.” And turns out the light, darkness enveloping them and sleep drawing them into oblivion but unable to pull them from one another.


	8. Tequila (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia's friends meet Yennefer's friends. 'Never have I ever' leads to some surprising insights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are drifting into slightly angsty waters over the next few chapters but rest assured, there is fluff and light at the end of the tunnel.

Tissaia leans her head back and tries to catch her breath. It’s been over three weeks since she and Yennefer first slept together but their ardour shows no sign of abating. If anything, the more Tissaia has of Yennefer, the more she wants. Which is how she found herself pressed up against a wall in the locker room of the Wolf’s kitchen, Yennefer’s hand down her trousers, trying to muffle their sounds like a pair of randy teenagers. As Tissaia attempts to recall how her legs work, Yennefer licks up the side of her neck and husks against her ear,

“That was awesome.”

Tissaia lets out a short, breathless laugh “It’s been a while since you resorted to that sort of language.”

Yennefer lets her head rest on Tissaia’s shoulder, still draped on top of her, pinning Tissaia between her and the wall, “It’s not my fault that the slightest twitch of your eyebrows reduces my vocabulary to that of a fifteen-year old.”

Tissaia teases, sounding smug, “You _were_ a bit of a rabbit in headlights the night we met. It was rather flattering to be honest.”

Yennefer retorts, pinching her waist, “Y _ou’re_ the one who was staring at my ass.”

“I was doing no such thing!”

“There was a mirror behind the bar – I could _see_ you.”

Tissaia hooks her chin over Yennefer’s shoulder to peer down her back with mild interest, as though perusing a catalogue, “It _is_ a rather nice ass.”

Yennefer growls and snuffles wet kisses up her neck making Tissaia squirm and giggle, trying to bat her hands away from sneaking up her sides. Their antics knock them against the lockers and the metal cases rattle, reverberating through the room.

Tissaia scolds, “Shhhh!” but her fierceness is ruined by the giggling she can’t quite stifle. They slide down the wall to sit with their backs resting against it, legs stretched out in front of them. Tissaia takes Yennefer’s hand and plays with it, interweaving their fingers, tracing her thumb across her palm. Yennefer nuzzles against her hair,

“What pattern are you on at work this week?”

“Day shifts, Monday off. Why?”

“The guys and I are planning a party after service ends on Sunday night. Nothing big, just us four and Sabrina. I was hoping you’d come too.”

“I don’t want to be the old fogey in the room. You should go by yourself and I’ll have an early night.”

“No one will think you’re old, I wish you’d stop saying things like that! But if it bothers you that much, invite some of your friends along too. It’s probably time I met them anyway.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh, come on! Triss is dying to meet you properly. And I’ll be sitting there like a gooseberry amongst two couples if you don’t come.”

Tissaia sighs and, against her better judgement, relents, “Alright. Calanthe has been pestering me about us so it’ll be a chance for her to interrogate you.”

“That sounds ominous… should I be worried?”

“She’s a hot-headed version of me. All the authority and terror without the quiet control… I’ll get Eist to come too, he always evens her out.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

Tissaia scoffs, “Don’t. Calanthe likes stubborn impulsive exuberance.”

Yennefer grins and runs a hand up the inside of Tissaia’s thigh, “So do you, even if you like to pretend otherwise.”

Tissaia swats her hand away and stands, “You’ll make me late for work. And I still have some standards, even if I did just let you ravage me in a public space.”

Yennefer crawls over and curls her hand round Tissaia’s calf, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, “I like your standards, it’s hot when you get all regimental.”

Tissaia swallows the moan that threatens to escape at the sight of Yennefer kneeling at her feet and substitutes it for an exasperated noise, “You have a decidedly one-track mind sometimes. Now, unhand me and go stick yourself in the walk-in fridge if necessary.”

Leaving Yennefer to pout or smirk, unsure which expression the younger woman will favour, Tissaia retrieves her jacket and handbag then sneaks out of the locker room, tidying her hair. Thankfully, no one sees her and by the time she is walking to the underground she is the epitome of composure and dignity. She can’t help the self-satisfied smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth though whenever she remembers how she just spent the last hour. It would seem Yennefer’s impulsiveness is catching.

* * * *

Of all the things Tissaia might have imagined herself doing at half-past ten on a Sunday night, mixing a pitcher of margaritas was not one of them. Under Geralt’s guidance she’s measuring out tequila and orange liqueur, chopping lime wedges, dipping glasses in salt, all the while wondering what she has gotten herself roped into. The guests have arrived and are making themselves comfortable on a selection of sofas and armchairs set round one of the low tables. Suddenly, Yennefer comes up to the bar and hisses at Tissaia,

“Why is there a woman wearing a dog collar in my restaurant?”

“I’m assuming you mean a clerical collar. Although you can never be sure nowadays, I imagine _you_ know some people who’ve worn dog collars.”

Yennefer scowls and comes round to face off with Tissaia, “Don’t play smart with me! Why is there someone dressed as a priest here?”

Tissaia lowers her voice to a dangerous pitch, something about Yennefer’s manner needling her, “Because Nenneke _is_ a priest. She also happens to be one of my oldest friends.”

Yennefer’s scowl deepens and she clenches her fists at her sides, “I didn’t know you’re religious.”

“Would it be a problem if I am?”

“You have _no idea_ what those people did to me!”

Their voices are hushed to avoid drawing attention but Tissaia is under no illusions – this is their first argument as a couple and she takes a deep breath before replying,

“You’re right, I don’t know the details. And I hope one day you’ll feel able to talk to me about it. But the fact that Nenneke is an ordained _woman_ should already tell you she’s from a different kind of church. If that’s not enough for you, then I can tell you her Sunday School spent Pride month designing a rainbow-themed stained-glass window. So please Yennefer, do her, and I, the courtesy of getting to know her before you pass judgement.”

Yennefer glowers for a moment but exhales through her nose and mutters,

“Fine. Just don’t expect me to sing Kumbaya round the fire with her.”

She takes the pitchers and flounces over to the sofas, Tissaia massaging her temples.

“Well done.”

She starts in surprise and turns to find Geralt watching her,

“Excuse me?”

“Well done. Yenn’s tricky to handle when she’s itching for a fight, but you managed to talk her down.”

Tissaia gives a grim smile, “I see you know her better than I do.”

“I’ve known her longer, that’s all. Don’t let it ruin your evening, she’ll have forgotten all about it soon.”

“That isn’t a comforting thought, Geralt. It shouldn’t be easy to forget something you were willing to have an argument about.”

He just shrugs and squeezes her shoulder encouragingly before picking up a tray with limes and salt and walking to the table. Tissaia rubs at the tension that has gathered in her neck and then joins the group, managing to smile and purposefully sitting next to Yennefer. Not so close to smother her but close enough to make it clear that she is not avoiding her. It was always going to be a balancing act with Yennefer, walking a tightrope, dancing on the edge of the world.

Jaskier claps his hands,

“Right! There is no better way to get to know people than a round of ‘never have I ever’, one way or the other you end up rather familiar with each other. Does everyone know how the game works? You say something you’ve never done, anyone else who _has_ done it has to drink.”

Everyone nods in understanding, filling their glasses from the pitchers, the more competitive members of the group already racking their brains for good questions. Coral, an anaesthetist who Tissaia first met on a smoke break nine years ago and has been friends with ever since, asks

“Is there a winner?”

Jaskier replies, “Well, whoever is the least-drunk by the end has lived the least-risqué life, so it depends on your definition of winning.”

Coral flashes a grin, “So being absolutely plastered is the desirable outcome.”

Jaskier smiles and plonks himself next to her, “You and I are going to get along fabulously! Everyone, ready? Triss – you go first.”

Triss thinks for a moment then begins,

“Never have I ever been fluent in a language that isn’t English.”

Eist and Coral are both Gaeilgeoirs and drink, chinking their glasses,

“Slàinte mhath, mo chara!”

Sabrina also drinks, explaining when Triss raises her eyebrows questioningly,

“I spent part of my childhood in Switzerland, so my French is pretty good.”

Nenneke takes a sip but Tissaia demands, “You take another sip for this one. She speaks at least five languages.”

“Most of them are dead. I hardly think Old Testament Hebrew and Aramaic count.”

The others round the table aren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to get a vicar drunk however so they all chant, “Drink, drink, drink!”

Nenneke rolls her eyes and drinks again, threatening Tissaia “I know things about you, my girl. This is war, I tell you, war!”

Sabrina is next and ponders before grinning, “Never have I ever smoked weed I didn’t grow myself.”

Jaskier scoffs, “Organic vegetables my arse! Dope farm more like.”

Everyone but Tissaia drinks and Sarina quizzes her, “You grown your own weed too?”

“No. I’ve never smoked weed.”

Yennefer crows, “Oh we are so getting you high one day!”

Tissaia looks rather alarmed at the thought and Coral rescues her, “Never have I ever played a musical instrument.”

Jaskier drinks and so does Eist, Calanthe teasing him, “I’m not sure bagpipes count as ‘musical’ darling.”

Jaskier goes next and because it is Jaskier, the game becomes suddenly crude “Never have I ever been tied up during sex.”

Triss scoffs at him, “Seriously?”

“Why do you look so surprised? I’m not the kinky degenerate you all seem to imagine.”

Yennefer looks sheepish and drinks. Followed by Calanthe and Eist, Tissaia looking horrified at the insight into her sister and brother-in-law’s sex life, protesting,

“There are some things I don’t need to know!”

Eist is disgruntled having drunk every round so far and thinks long and hard before suddenly looking smug,

“Never have I ever worn trousers to a formal occasion.”

Geralt looks at him warily, “What the hell were you wearing then?”

“A kilt of course.”

Everyone groans but they all have to drink, and Eist looks pleased with himself. Yennefer is next and takes stock round the table. She addresses Tissaia,

“This is ridiculous, all you’ve done so far is worn trousers. Hah! I know, never have I ever got a tattoo.”

Tissaia scowls at her and drinks as do Coral and Geralt. Calanthe presses for details, “Go on then, what have you got?”

Tissaia rolls up her sleeve to show the labrys on her upper arm, Coral has an angelfish at the top of her thigh but won’t reveal it while Geralt just smiles and pulls off his shirt. A wolf’s head covers his entire back and Coral whistles admiringly. Nenneke peers closer, although Yennefer could swear her gaze is actually aligned with Geralt’s six-pack rather than the tattoo, and runs a finger under her clerical collar,

“Goodness, what a fine specimen.”

Tissaia snorts into her glass and Geralt winks at Nenneke before pulling his shirt back on. He considers briefly then says,

“Never have I ever been arrested.”

No one drinks. And then very slowly, grudgingly, Tissaia lifts her glass. The table explodes with cries of disbelief and demands to know the details. Tissaia purses her lips but Nenneke looks vengefully triumphant,

“If you don’t tell them, I will.”

Tissaia sighs and mutters, “I assaulted a police officer.”

Nenneke tuts, “She’s not telling it properly! We were on a protest together and this policeman in full riot-gear was taking his baton to a young lad. Tissaia walked over, took his baton, and threw it away. Ripped the riot-shield right of his hands too. Then helped the boy up and walked away, calm as you like.”

“I was maintaining my Hippocratic oath to do no harm. There was no reason to be brutalising that young man, it was a peaceful protest.”

“I’ve never seen anyone look so shocked - the copper just stood there. And this one, strolling back towards the picket line as if she’d said, ‘how do you do?’ rather than man-handled a policeman.”

“I should stress that at no point did I actually hit the man. However much he may have deserved it.”

The others round the table sit in stunned silence until Jaskier, a newfound appreciation in his eyes, holds out his hand for a high-five,

“Put it there. Yes, queen!”

Tissaia smiles at him, wordlessly apologising for their last encounter, and pats her palm against his. It is her turn next,

“Never have I ever been a parent.”

Calanthe and Eist drink and, to most people’s surprise, so does Geralt.

“I have an adoptive daughter.” He explains. “Ciri. She studies at the Ballet school, but she spends holidays with us. Yenn is her godmother.”

Triss points at Yennefer, “Drink, Yenna.”

Yennefer looks oddly downcast, “It doesn’t count. Not really.”

Nenneke leans forward, “Oh it certainly does, sweetie. And I think you’ll find I’m the expert in the room when it comes to God.”

Yennefer smiles, almost vulnerably, and drinks, Geralt looking fondly at her. Tissaia stores this interaction for later, there is yet another part of Yennefer’s past that needs investigating it would seem. Careful, gentle investigation when the moment is right. The game continues long into the night, becoming cruder and more jovial as the level of alcohol in the pitchers decreases steadily. At last, only Calanthe and Yennefer are still playing, everyone else having bowed out gracefully. Calanthe stares at Yennefer with narrowed eyes, a devious smirk on her face,

“Never have I ever played strip poker.”

Yennefer drinks and fixes her with a defiant glare, “Never have I ever been in a threesome.”

Calanthe purses her lips in annoyance but drinks then shoots back, “Never have I ever ridden a motorbike without a helmet.”

Yennefer glances warily at Tissaia then drinks, trying not to cower at the way her lover’s eyebrows arch so high they are in danger of disappearing into her hairline. Calanthe cackles,

“I think I just got you in trouble! Do you concede?”

“Hell no! Never have I ever broken someone else’s bones.”

Calanthe cracks her knuckles dangerously and drinks, “Never have I ever fired a gun.”

Yennefer pumps her fist into the air in triumph, “Hah! Neither have I! I win!”

Calanthe quizzes Jaskier fiercely, “I thought it means I’ve won if I’m the drunkest?”

Jaskier just shakes his head, “I am not getting in between you two, if nothing else you’ve proven you’re both equally bonkers.”

Tissaia sits up from where she had sunk into the sofa, “Exactly. It would seem the two women in my life are both intent on driving me to an early grave worrying about them. Come on, some of us need to be functioning adults by Tuesday and it’s already Monday.”

The group rouse themselves, all pleasantly tipsy and feeling like they have known each other far longer than a few hours. Yennefer even accepts Nenneke’s hug as she sees her to the door. When everyone else has left, Tissaia flops back down on the sofa and holds out her hand to Yennefer.

“Come here.”

Yennefer snuggles in next to her and Tissaia is loath to break the truce that has been brokered but she has never been one to shy away from frank discussions.

“I’d like you to tell me why it was such a problem for you to see someone like Nenneke. And I want to be aware of anything else that might set you off like that. Don’t misunderstand me – I don’t want to pry, and I accept there are some things you may not wish to share with me yet. But I don’t like the people we became behind the bar and I want to avoid a reoccurrence of it. So, if there’s anything I can do to stop you being that uncomfortable again, I’d like to know.”

Yennefer stiffens and plucks at a loose thread on her sleeve, “I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk about this.”

The last things she expects is for Tissaia to stand and fetch a pair of shot glasses and the tequila bottle.

“Alright, let’s drink then. I’m serious, Yennefer. I want to know. And I want you to believe me when I say I will still love you after you’ve told me.”

Yennefer goes very still, “You’ve never said you love me before.”

“I’m saying it now. There, that was my first confession. Your turn.” Tissaia knocks back a shot and forces Yennefer to meet her eyes, “Talk to me.”

Yennefer takes a deep breath then nods and reaches for her shot-glass.


	9. Tequila (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer opens up to Tissaia.  
> Warning: Depicts a suicide attempt, the death of a loved-one and religiously-motivated homophobia.  
> 

_Yennefer runs her fingers over the smooth red casing of the pocket-knife, hooks her pinkie through the keyring attached to the top of it, thumbs the little white cross embossed on it. There was a time she would have given anything to have this knife in her hands, to be allowed to hold it. But now, she wants nothing more than for it to be snatched from her gasp. For its possessive owner to still be sat next to her, whispering with their heads bent together and knees drawn up to their chests. Watching the shiny blades get flicked in and out with smooth practiced gestures, Yennefer eyeing them enviously. Not because she wanted the knife (well she did, a little bit) but because she was jealous that it got to have Renfri’s fingers curl round it, to feel the heat and sweat of her palm._

_Renfri’s hands are not warm anymore._

_Yennefer decides there is no better way to end things than with this knife. It will feel like Renfri is the one releasing her from the pain, she can imagine the cool steel burning her wrists is Renfri’s mouth. She selects the blade that looks sharpest, testing it with the edge of her thumb. Rolls up the threadbare cuffs of her jersey and flexes her wrists. Clenches and uncurls her fists until she can see the tendons, the veins. She’s never done this before, and she wonders if she should try a little cut somewhere else first to make sure the knife works. But then she hears Renfri scoffing at her, her dark eyes flashing,_

_“Don’t be such a worrier Yenna, just do it!”_

_And because Renfri has always made her feel brave, always made her want to reach out and grab hold of an experience with both hands, Yennefer slits her wrist in a single, purposeful motion without a hint of hesitation. It takes a moment for the blood to well out of the cut and dribble into the tiny crevices of her skin, quivering globules forming at the edge of her forearm until gravity wins and they drop onto the linoleum of the dormitory floor. Satisfied with the outcome, Yennefer swaps the knife to her other hand. Her fingers fumble, they don’t seem to be responding to her brain like they used to. Forcing herself to focus she makes the cut on the other wrist just as neat and precise, this one making her fingers go numb and floppy instantly. If she wasn’t so relieved at her impending freedom Yennefer might wish for time to satisfy her curiosity, to examine why her fingers are now useless sticks, to study the curlicues and meandering lines the blood paints down her forearms._

_“Stop thinking so much, Yenna, just feel. Do what feels right, that’s how you know it’s a good decision.”_

_Yennefer smiles shyly, biting her lower lip until she remembers not to. Renfri’s dark eyes shine with approval, her roguish smile breaking across her face._

_“That’s it. Don’t you bite your lip; you stand up straight and you make people look you in the eye.”_

* * * *

Tissaia’s hand on her knee brings Yennefer back to the present, concern etched across the older woman's face. Yennefer presses her fingers to her eyes to clear the memory from the back of her eyelids. She does not know how long she has been silent since downing her shot, but her fingers are cramped from clenching the glass. She sets it down and clears her throat,

“The first emotion I can remember feeling is being unwanted. The kids whose parents were dead had the better deal because they could imagine all sorts of things and no one would contradict them. Their parents had been brave adventurers or had died to save someone’s life, they would have loved and cherished their child if only they had lived. Those of us who’d been abandoned didn’t have that luxury. Our parents had made the decision to give us up, they had chosen to live without us. I was five when I was left on the steps. Not in a drawer wrapped in a blanket next to the milk bottles at the crack of dawn – nothing romantic like that. No, my father told me to sit on the steps and wait and then never came back. I don’t remember much of him, but I know he scared me and that I was glad he didn’t come looking for me. I don’t remember my mother. She was alive when I was abandoned, the records told me that much. She disappeared some years later and she’s still officially missing.”

Tissaia has kept her hand on her knee and Yennefer tries to concentrate on the warmth of it. Tissaia sees her staring at it and misinterprets her silence as discomfort so lifts it away.

“Don’t. It’s fine to touch me, it helps. It’s just… this might take a while. The words are hard to find.”

Tissaia shifts so she’s sitting cross-legged on the sofa facing Yennefer and curls her hand round her knee again. Waits patiently, perfectly calm, only the little puffs of air as she breathes disturbing her stillness. Yennefer plucks at the loose thread on her cuff again,

“The orphanage was unbearably miserable. Although we were lucky compared with the horror stories you hear nowadays. We weren’t abused or anything like that. It wasn’t a happy place though, or a kind one. Particularly for kids like me. Believe it or not, I was painfully shy, the less space I was taking up the better as far I was concerned. I had this trick of blending into the background, not drawing any attention whatsoever. One of the Sisters was kind to me, Sister Margarita.” She gives a little smile, “I reckon she was my first crush. In as much as a ten-year-old can have a crush anyway. I used to imagine what it would be like for us to live together. She’d work, and I’d keep our house clean. I was good at cleaning – polishing the wooden banisters was my favourite chore. I’d spend hours going up and down, rubbing until I could see my reflection in it, something soothing in the repetitive rhythms perhaps? I don’t know… it’s a stupid thing to remember!”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a time you were happy, or at least not unhappy. That’s a memory worth having.” 

“When I was eleven a new girl, Renfri, arrived, and my life changed overnight. I’d never met anyone so… _alive_. She was fierce and loud and clever – ‘too clever for her own good’ the Sisters used to say. Renfri took me under her wing and we spent all our time together. She taught me to swear and to climb trees and I used to read to her. She liked ‘The Wolf and Swallow’ best, she’d ask me to read it over and over. For a few years it was as close to happiness as I’d ever known, I’d never had a friend before, never been _wanted_ before."

Yennefer sighs, "We were fifteen the first time we kissed.” She shivers, touches her lips with her fingers, “I can still remember the feeling even now. The heat of it, the way she tasted of apples we’d just stolen from the kitchens, how I thought my heart was going to burst right out of my chest.”

Yennefer reaches for the tequila bottle and pours them each another shot. Sprinkles salt on her hand and licks it, drinks then sucks on a lime wedge. The buzz and sharpness make her shiver again, but it clears her mind, helps her find the next words,

“Looking back now it all seems so innocent, we never did anything more than kiss. But it felt like the world was going to come crashing down round my ears, like I was about to split at the seams. People noticed the change in me; I stopped slouching, stopped biting my lip, started talking back. At first, the Sisters were pleased with my ‘progress’, but I got wilder and there were ‘concerns’ that Renfri was ‘a bad influence’. When they caught us kissing, the priest, Father Stregebor, was summoned and told us how sinful we were, how eternal pain and damnation waited for us. Renfri just laughed but I couldn’t help feeling ashamed, feeling wicked. They kept us apart after that, making us sit with him individually. Every day for weeks I had to listen to the threats, the rebukes. He gave me a rubber band to wear and snap every time I had unclean thoughts, made me memorise passages in the Bible that described Hell. I was afraid, so desperately afraid. And I felt ugly, unclean, something horrible and malformed. No wonder my parents had abandoned me…”

Yennefer trails off and wraps her arms around herself, shivering again. Tissaia takes off the cashmere cardigan she’s been wearing and puts it round Yennefer’s shoulders. It’s far too small for her but it’s warm and soft and smells of Tissaia and Yennefer clings to it. She glances up at Tissaia and is taken aback at the thunderous look on her face. Yennefer always thought it was a myth that people go white with rage but Tissaia is deathly pale, her mouth a thin hard line, eyebrows knitted together.

“Are you alright?”

“Am _I_ alright? My darling girl, it’s me who should be asking you that question.”

“You just look… don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never seen you look so unpleasant.”

“I am angry. Beyond angry. But not with you, with that vile man. ‘Murderous’ does not adequately describe my thoughts concerning that… _bastard_.”

“It’s just as well he’s already dead then.”

Tissaia pinches the bridge of her nose breathing deeply to compose herself, the fire in her eyes dampening slightly, “Forgive me, here I am going on about my anger when you’re the one who was hurt. Do you want to stop?”

Yennefer shakes her head and resumes her story,

“Renfri snuck into my dormitory one night, about three weeks after we’d been caught. She was running away and wanted me to come with her, but I couldn’t, I was too much of a coward. She left me her knife – a pocketknife she used to carry with her all the time. She’d carved our initials with it into the skirting boards, into the tree we used to climb, underneath our beds. Social services went after her to get her back and because it was Renfri, she ran, made them chase her. She never went anywhere quietly. They told me the driver tried to stop, that it was no one’s fault, that it was just a dreadful accident…the worst part was it was Stregebor who officiated at her funeral. When we got back from the church I went upstairs and slit my wrists with her knife.”

Tissaia makes a small noise at the back of her throat, something between a moan and cough, and she has to blink hard several times. She reaches for Yennefer’s hand and intertwines their fingers,

“When I came round in the hospital it felt like I’d been reborn. The doctor said it was a miracle I had survived. And I decided there and then that if I was that wicked, that unlovable then I wouldn’t have been allowed to live. So, I fought to get my fingers back working, fought to stand up straight and not be afraid, I fought and fought until I was just as fierce and alive as Renfri had been. As soon as I was old enough, I left and got a job washing dishes in a restaurant. Geralt worked there too and he took me in, kept an eye on me, stopped me going completely off the rails in my newfound freedom. There were shaky times – I got rather wild and self-destructive until I settled into my own skin. Until I found the balance between being unafraid and being reckless. Eventually, the chef helped me get into catering college and… well, you know the rest really.”

Tissaia exhales deeply and takes both of Yennefer’s hands, laying them in her lap, palms upwards. Hovers her fingers above her wrists,

“May I touch them? Is that alright?”

Yennefer nods and tries to remember how to breathe as Tissaia traces over her scars with her fingertips, runs her thumbs along them, lifts them up and presses her lips to them. When she speaks, her voice is tender and breaks a little,

“My beautiful, brave girl. Never hide these, promise me. They are not marks to be ashamed of – they are a reminder of how strong you are, how _loved_ you are. Do you hear me?”

Yennefer nods again, not trusting her voice, leaning her forehead against Tissaia’s. They sit in silence for a while until Yennefer releases a deep sigh and smiles. She turns her hands over and guides Tissaia’s fingers to the fresh, pink scar between her thumb and forefinger, Tissaia’s suture marks barely visible,

“This one is my new reminder, it’s the one that tells me why I was kept alive, so that I could meet you.”

Tissaia’s jaw jumps, “You’ll make me cry saying such things. And I am not drunk enough to feel comfortable crying.”

Yennefer reaches for the bottle, a tentative grin bravely appearing through the sorrow of the past, “That is easily remedied.”

Her grin marks a shift in the air and some of the tension eases from both their bodies. She licks her hand between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the rough edge of the scar against her tongue, and sprinkles salt on it. Then hands the shaker to Tissaia wriggling her eyebrows provocatively, “Lick, swallow, suck.”

Tissaia rolls her eyes but complies. Smacking her lips at the sharpness of the lime and the burn of the tequila, Tissaia runs her thumb over Yennefer’s damp hand,

“I wonder if they’ll call this the ‘saltlick’ years from now.”

“You what now?”

“Well, today this part of your hand is called the ‘snuff-box’ because it’s where people used to put snuff to snort. No one uses snuff anymore but it’s where people put salt for licking.”

“I think you might be drunker than you realise…”

“I am not! I bet I can still name every bone in your body.”

Yennefer’s eyes flash mischievously and she points at Tissaia’s second knuckle on her index finger, raising her eyebrows questioningly. Tissaia scoffs,

“Easy! Proximal interphalangeal joint.”

Yennefer runs her finger up to her forearm and pauses, “You’re hovering between two bones, the ulnar and radius.”

Up to Tissaia’s shoulder, stroking as she recites, “Glenohumeral joint, between the humerus and scapula.”

Yennefer unbuttons Tissaia’s shirt to reach inside and tiptoes across to her collarbone. Tissaia’s breath quickens a little but she manages, “Acromioclavicular joint.”

Yennefer frowns, “No. I know this one, it’s your clavicle.”

“Yes, but your finger is sitting on the join that connects it, not the clavicle itself.”

“You’re just showing off.”

Yennefer traces along her clavicle into the dip between the two, “Suprasternal notch.”

Then she undoes more buttons until she can pull the shirt apart. Tissaia’s chest is heaving as Yennefer drags a fingernail gently down her breastbone, pausing until Tissaia speaks,

“Sternum, manubrium region.”

Yennefer pushes her gently back to lie down, straddling her, “You could just be spouting nonsense, I wouldn’t be any the wiser.”

Tissaia glares, arching up into her touch as Yennefer draws along each of her ribs, “If I didn’t have other priorities right now, I’d be offended at you suggesting I’m a cheat.”

Yennefer taps a rib while slowly grinding her hips down, Tissaia exhales and squeezes her eyes shut in concentration, “Ninth rib, false not floating, dexter anterior.”

Yennefer shifts down and curls her hand round Tissaia’s hip bone who swallows a moan and says breathlessly, “Ilium, although the bit you can feel is actually the iliac crest and only a small part of a much larger structure…”

Her explanation tails off into a gasp as Yennefer unbuttons her jeans and slides her hand down to rest on her mound, cupping her through her underwear.

“Jesus!”

Yennefer smirks, “I’m sure that’s not what it’s called. Come on, what’s this here?”

Tissaia stutters, “Sacrum or pubic symphysis. I can’t tell where your hand is exactly. God, Yennefer!”

She exclaims as Yennefer starts to rock against her, grinding down with the heel of her hand. When Yennefer lifts her hand away, Tissaia whines. Yennefer hushes her and leans over to the table and picks up the salt. She sucks hard on a spot above Tissaia’s breast, where the lacy edge of her bra meets skin, runs her tongue over it then hovers the shaker above it. Her eyes meet Tissaia’s,

“Is this ok?”

Tissaia nods. A month ago, she’d have shuddered at the idea of letting someone consume food off her body. But the thought of Yennefer licking her, and the scenarios flashing through her mind as to where on earth the tequila and lime might be going, have made Tissaia go wobbly with desire. As if she knows the havoc raging through Tissaia’s brain, Yennefer grins and sprinkles salt on the rapidly purpling hickey above her breast. Then trickles a little of the tequila into the dip between her collarbones, intoning in a serious voice,

“Suprasternal notch.”

Tissaia glares but doesn’t move, very aware of the liquid threatening to spill down her chest and ruin a decent bra. It takes every bit of her self-will not to shiver when Yennefer leans down and whispers in her ear,

“Open your mouth.”

Tissaia parts her lips and Yennefer gives her a lime wedge to hold in her teeth. She waits a moment drinking in the sight of Tissaia ready and waiting, offering up these pleasures to her. Then, Yennefer bends her head and licks across Tissaia’s breast, laps at her collarbones and swoops up to capture her mouth and the lime, moaning at the explosion of sensations across her tongue. She reaches between them to remove the lime, dropping it onto a tray and her breath hitching as Tissaia grabs her fingers and brings them back to her mouth, flicking her tongue between them, round her knuckles. She groans when Yennefer pushes them in further, sucking on them and trapping the tips between her teeth, biting gently. Yennefer trails her damp fingers down Tissaia’s torso, joining-the-dots with the birthmarks scattered across her pale skin. Pulls her jeans down and off her legs, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and sliding them down too. Yennefer is about to settle herself between Tissaia’s thighs when Tissaia sits up and pushes Yennefer backwards,

“Lie down. And take off your top.”

Yennefer resists for a moment, eager to keep control of the night but Tissaia buries her hand in her hair, pulling just enough for it to sting,

“I said, lie down.”

Yennefer’s stomach drops at the command, the fire in Tissaia’s eyes creating a jolt of arousal that shoots down between her legs. She lifts her top over her head and throws it away, her bra following it quickly, then lays back on the sofa, surrendering. Tissaia purrs,

“Good girl.”

Bare from the waist down but still wearing her bra and unbuttoned shirt, Tissaia crawls up Yennefer’s body until she is straddling her shoulders. She guides Yennefer’s hands to grip her hips and places an index finger under her chin,

“Look at me. If anything makes you uncomfortable you will tell me at once, do you understand?”

Yennefer nods, licking her lips in anticipation as Tissaia lowers herself carefully until her thighs are bracketing Yennefer’s head and she is resting on her chest, her wetness slick against her chin. Yennefer peppers little kisses up her inner thighs, nuzzles her nose at the apex of them, breathing in the clean smell of her skin and that darker, musk scent of her arousal. She shifts her hands from Tissaia’s hip to cup her bottom, urging her closer so that her tongue can dart out to flick at her. Tissaia sighs and bites her lower lip, coiling Yennefer’s hair round her fist. While the teasing touches are pleasant, Tissaia is aching and so, she tugs at Yennefer’s hair and cants her hips forward, demanding,

“More, Yennefer. Don’t you close your eyes, look at me. I want to see you.”

Yennefer’s pulse skitters at the hunger in Tissaia’s voice, the forceful insistence of her grinding hips and the sweet sting of her scalp where Tissaia is gripping her hair. This should feel degrading, submissive, vulnerable but all Yennefer feels is safe. And every time Tissaia shivers, or her mouth falls open in a silent gasp, Yennefer feels powerful. She is strong and safe and loved and when Tissaia starts to keen in pleasure, Yennefer knows this is the most _alive_ she has ever been. She locks her arms round Tissaia’s thighs and pushes herself deeper into her, the tightening of the other woman’s abdomen spurring Yennefer to a frenzied assault with her lips and tongue. Tissaia gasps, tugging her away,

“Stop, stop!”

She crawls back down Yennefer’s body, panting and Yennefer lifts herself on her elbows,

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

Tissaia gives a little laugh, unbuttoning Yennefer’s jeans urgently, “No, pet. Nothing’s wrong. I just want to taste you too.” She locks her darkened eyes on Yennefer’s, “I want you in my mouth when I come.”

Hearing Tissaia say such things makes Yennefer groan and she raises her hips eagerly as Tissaia drags her underwear away. When Tissaia flattens her tongue and licks up her folds, Yennefer cries out in a strangled voice. An incoherent string of curses and encouragements fall from her and her mind goes blank. Not in a dark empty way but in a blinding flash of light. She tries to focus on the sensation of Tissaia’s mouth on her, searing hot and slippery, little moans reverberating against her driving her higher. When Yennefer is panting and quivering, Tissaia turns round and offers herself to Yennefer again, leaning back on her knees so Yennefer can kiss between her legs while she fastens her own mouth round Yennefer’s nub and starts to suck. The sofa creaks as they buck and writhe, each intent on the other’s pleasure, not even a millimetre of space between their bodies. When they peak, they stiffen and then shudder violently, a long ragged cry escaping from each of them, muffling itself between their thighs. Tissaia rolls off Yennefer and collapses beside her sweaty and sated, nuzzling against her neck, stroking her ribcage.

“I love you.”

She murmurs it sleepily but looks up in concern when she feels Yennefer tremble. The younger woman is furtively brushing tears from the corner of her eyes and Tissaia turns her head to face her, framing her face in her hands. She thumbs the tears away and whispers over and over again,

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Yennefer wraps her arms round her and leans her head against her chest, still crying softly. When the tears subside, Yennefer feels brave enough to say,

“I love you too.”

As they fall asleep, Yennefer thinks she sees a pair of dark eyes watching them. They wink, and a roguish smile appears below them. Yennefer smiles back, Renfri nods in satisfaction and tosses her pocket-knife, catching it in deft hands. _That’s a good smile, Yenna. Keep it._ And then she is gone but Yennefer knows she is not lost, only someplace else.


	10. Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer wakes Tissaia up too early  
> 

Yennefer’s first waking thought is, _Shit! I’m freezing!_ quickly followed by _Jaskier will kill me if he ever finds out I had sex on a sofa where we seat customers_. Wincing at the crick in her neck and disentangling herself from Tissaia’s limbs, Yennefer sits up and the room spins. She takes a deep breath to still the dizziness but that only means she gets a whiff of tequila from the open bottle and she grimaces, feeling her stomach heave. Capping the bottle and moving very slowly, she makes her way to the bar and pours herself a pint glass of water, downing it and pouring another to sip. The water from the tap is ice cold and Yennefer shivers, scowling because the heating must be broken. It should not be this cold in the restaurant, even first thing in the morning. She retrieves her clothes from the floor and dresses, putting on her jacket for good measure then drapes Tissaia’s cardigan and jacket over the smaller woman who is still fast asleep. Muttering to herself about tidying up the mess from last night, getting the sofa deep-cleaned and having to phone a plumber to look at the boiler – all before opening to customers for lunch, Yennefer stomps through to the utility cupboard. It is only when she passes the large window that fronts the restaurant that she understands why it’s so cold.

“What the fuck?”

She rubs her eyes and looks again. It is no trick. Outside is blanketed in a layer of snow, already four or five inches deep, and soft powdery flakes are still falling. It never snows in the city, out on the hills and further up north yes but never here. The most they ever get is a slushy mess and black ice. And because this is Yennefer, all thoughts of dry cleaners and plumbers and any other adult responsibilities leave her mind as her inner-child whoops delightedly and she scurries over to the sofa.

“Tissaia, it’s snowing! Wake up! It’s _snowing!_ ”

Tissaia groans and is reminded, in several ways all at once, that she is not as young as she used to be. Her back and thighs are spasming after her… acrobatics last night (or was it this morning? She can’t quite recall at this precise moment) exacerbated by sleeping on a sofa stark naked in a cold room. Her head is woolly, and her tongue feels like sandpaper and what did she expect, doing tequila slammers at her age? The final reminder is that Yennefer, who it would seem is still young enough to find snow exciting rather than inconvenience, is practically bouncing on her with delight.

“Come on! You’ve got to see, it’s snowing! Actual snow, not just a sprinkling, proper snowball snow!”

Tissaia lets Yennefer pull her up to a sitting position and clutches her temples. When Yennefer helpfully brandishes a glass of water under her nose, she resists the urge to throw it over her.

“Yennefer, I need clothes and coffee and then I will come look at the snow.”

Yennefer looks dejected but only for a moment before running over to the window and pressing her nose against the glass, peering out with child-like wonder. Watching her, Tissaia can’t help the wave of affection that washes through her and she shakes her head fondly. Once she is dressed and has a steaming mug of caffeine in her hands, Tissaia joins Yennefer at the window.

“Goodness! You weren’t exaggerating. I can’t remember the last time we had snow like this, and so early as well. It’s not even November yet.”

Yennefer is scrolling through her phone, “It’s only going to get worse apparently, the Met office has issued a red warning; I’ve never seen it go past amber. No one is to travel unless strictly necessary and employees are to be sent home.” She grins broadly, “It’s a snow day! Right, the restaurant is closed, and you and I are going to the nearest park to build a snowman.”

“Some of us don’t get let off work just because it’s snowing.”

“Yes, but you’re not on until tonight, right?”

“I need to sleep though! We were up until God knows what time this morning and it’s only…” She checks her wristwatch, “half-seven, which means I got four hours at most!”

“Pfft! You’re not telling me you’re ‘too old for this shit’ are you?”

Yennefer knows it’s a low-down trick, but she can’t resist, she is itching to be outside and something tells her Tissaia is going to look gorgeous with rosy cheeks and snowy hair. Tissaia arches her eyebrows and her lips purse,

“Oh, you did _not_ just go there, my girl. Outside! Now!”

Before Yennefer realises what’s happening, Tissaia has bundled her out the door and into the carpark, tickling her until she collapses to her knees. She pins her, and then shoves a handful of snow down the back of her neck. Yennefer squeals and kicks to roll them over but Tissaia is too quick, jumping to her feet and bounding away. Yennefer rolls a snowball and flings it at her, Tissaia ducks and glares before scampering round behind a lamppost and fashioning her own ammunition. Yennefer considers just chasing her but Tissaia is faster than she’d realised so she takes cover at the chalkboard that advertises the day’s specials and starts to roll. The first volley of snowballs miss their targets and Tissaia makes a dash for a spot closer to Yennefer, yelping when Yennefer catches her with another shot.

“I am going to get you for that!”

“Only if you last that long! You need to sleep, remember?”

Tissaia flings a rather large snowball in response but does a double-take when it elicits a “Goddamn it!” in a deep voice. She peers over the bin she’s been sheltering behind and sees Geralt shaking snow from his hair and Jaskier clutching his belly laughing. Yennefer takes full advantage of this new development,

“Come on Geralt, my team, that way you can get her back!”

Tissaia barks, “Jaskier! Here, now!”

Jaskier is shaking his head in protest when a snowball smacks him in the face, Geralt dusting his hands and grinning next to Yennefer. Jaskier splutters and then strides over to Tissaia’s bin,

“Right, ice-queen! You and me against those morons! Let it gooooo, let it go!”

He flings several snowballs at once, complete with a spray of powdery snow, striking a pose any Disney princess would be proud of. None of his shots hit their target but they do engulf Triss who has just appeared with Sabrina.

“What the-?” Triss coughs and shakes her corkscrew curls, wiping snow from her eyes. “Oh, you are for it, mister! Think you’re on bloody Frozen, do you?”

Rather than join the opposing team however, Triss just runs at Jaskier who shrieks and makes a dash for it. Sabrina joins Tissaia behind the bin,

“Is this the ‘I’m only here because I’m in a relationship with one of these idiots’ team?”

“Yes!”

“Excellent, pass me that.”

She takes the snowball Tissaia has just made and pelts it across, hitting Yennefer square in the chest. Tissaia looks impressed and starts to roll more leaving Sabrina, who it turns out has excellent aim, to do the firing. Triss catches Jaskier and rugby tackles him to the ground, a muffled howl coming from him,

“Geraaaaalt!”

Geralt makes to abandon his post at the chalkboard and Yennefer threatens,

“Stay where you are! You’ll find another boyfriend.”

“Geraaaalt! Hellllp!”

He shrugs apologetically and sprints to the tangle of limbs that is Triss and Jaskier. Tissaia snatches the lid off the bin and holds it in front of her like a shield,

“I’ll cover us, you throw! Come on, that whippersnapper is on her own now!”

Sabrina nods in grim satisfaction and starts to lob snowballs at Yennefer, one after the other, as the two of them advance towards the chalkboard, hiding behind the bin lid. Triss lets out a squeal as Geralt picks her up and Sabrina charges towards them, leaping on his back and pummelling him. Left without her teammate and no snowballs, Tissaia flings her makeshift shield aside and launches herself at Yennefer. Yennefer staggers backwards at the small but powerful body barrelling into her and lands on her backside with a soft thump in a snowdrift. Tissaia wraps her legs round Yennefer’s waist and grabs her by the lapels of her jacket,

“Who’s old now, you little minx?”

Yennefer would burst out laughing at this description of her if Tissaia did not look quite so fierce and quite so lovely. A rosy glow is stroking its way along her high cheekbones, her eyes bright and snapping with energy, her eyebrows drawn together making Yennefer quake though she’d never admit being frightened. Her hair is pinned up loosely, but little wisps have escaped in her exertions and a fine dusting of snow is sparkling in amongst the dark waves. There is an elegant strength in the set of her jaw and mouth, lips pursed and dimpled chin jutting out defiantly. Her gaze is so piercing, Yennefer can practically feel it pinning her to the wall. Yennefer blinks once or twice disarmingly and then bops a little kiss on the point of Tissaia’s nose,

“You’re gorgeous. Perfect exactly as you are.”

Tissaia’s mouth does that little curl at the corner, a dimple flashing briefly, and she gives a satisfied nod. Then she releases Yennefer and stands, helping the younger woman up. The rather dishevelled quartet who had been wrestling in the snow come up to the pair and Geralt grunts,

“Put her down, Yenn. And open the door, it’s bloody cold out here and I’m hungry.”

Yennefer dusts of her trousers, “Why are you all here anyway?”

Jaskier replies, “We’d left before we saw the news about shutting businesses. Figured we might as well spend the day here – there’s more food than at home.”

Triss nods, shaking snow from inside her gloves, “Same. And Sabrina had left her van here last night, so she needed to collect it.”

Yennefer turns to the blonde, “Well, you’re not driving anywhere today, not in this weather. Come on then, everyone inside, I need breakfast after all that.”

If anyone notices that the party debris has not been cleared or that Tissaia and Yennefer are in the same clothes as they were last night, they make the wise decision not to mention it. Between the six of them they tidy up, cook breakfast, and get the fire lit to warm the place up. Sitting down to plates of stacked pancakes, dripping with butter and syrup, crispy bacon, and enough coffee to power a generator, a contented silence fills the air round the table. Tissaia takes a sip and raises an eyebrow,

“Gracious, that’s good! What’s in it?”

Geralt looks smug, “Rum. Most people put brandy or whisky in coffee, but I like rum – gives it that sweetness.”

Tissaia’s face disappears behind the circumference of the large mug as she drinks more, looking mortified when she accidentally slurps. Yennefer chuckles,

“I think we might have found another of your vices.”

They pass the day in a warm haze of food and board games, occasionally venturing outside to construct snowmen or assist the various cars that get stuck in the snowdrifts. Mid-afternoon, Tissaia sighs and rouses herself. Yennefer tries to pull her back down, but she is firm,

“No. I have to get ready for work. I need to get home and change.”

Sabrina reasons, “They can’t expect you to go in today surely? There’s no public transport running, and you’d be mad to drive.”

“The other consultant commutes in from his brother’s farm everyday so there’s no way he’ll make it. I’ve got to be there. I’ll walk, it’s only an hour from mine to the hospital.”

Yennefer stands and retrieves her own purple scarf from the coat-stand, wrapping it round Tissaia and murmuring so they others can’t hear,

“Have I mentioned how much it makes me love you when you get all noble and responsible?” She presses a kiss to her forehead and then clears her throat, speaking normally, “Be careful. And let me know when you reach.”

“I will. Night, everyone. Don’t stay up too late.”

They wave her off and then settle back down to a game of scrabble, which Tissaia was winning by a long shot but is now more evenly matched. Yennefer does not how long they have been playing when Sabrina, who has bowed out of the game, sits bolt upright and stares at her phone screen.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Turn on the news. Quickly!”

Geralt reaches for the remote that controls the tv behind the bar and the screen flickers to life. A grim looking reporter informs them that a lorry has lost control in the snow and ploughed into a group of pedestrians in town before crashing into a block of flats. It is absolute chaos from what the cameras are managing to pick up, the flats are burning, the twisted metal of the lorry half-embedded in the brickwork, dozens of paramedics and firefighters are working and police cordons have been set up. Triss covers her mouth with her hand and Jaskier shakes his head in disbelief. Yennefer grabs her phone,

“Tissaia!”

Geralt tries to calm her, “She’ll be fine, she’s at work. That street isn’t on her route to the hospital.”

Yennefer points at the cavalcade of ambulances on the screen, sirens wailing and blue lights flashing, “I know she’s at work! Where do you think all those ambulances are going?”

Sabrina exhales through her mouth, “She’s going to have a shitty night.”

And Yennefer can do nothing. The awful realisation hits her, and she sits down with her head in hands feeling utterly helpless, her chest aching at the thought of Tissaia facing such devastation alone. 


	11. Brandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer takes care of Tissaia after a tough shift at work.

There are times Tissaia aches for this city. Whenever the message comes through ‘major incident declared’, she always allows herself a moment of stillness to gather her thoughts. Only a second or two but it makes the difference between overwhelming despair and coherent, effective action. Her team is briefed, kit is prepped and all that is left to do is wait for the first wave of casualties. Just before she dismisses everyone she urges,

“It’s going to be a long night – look after each other. Let’s do what we can to fix this mess.”

And then they hear the first of the sirens pulling up and it begins. She loses track of how many patients she deals with, settling into a rhythm. As soon as one is transferred to a ward or the operating theatre, another is brought in. It is a blur of blood, burnt flesh, people moaning in pain and, even worse, people making no sound at all. Despite the devastation there is something comforting in the order that is imposed, that _she_ imposes on this carnage. It is _organised_ chaos, there are systems in place, clear lines of communication, a shared sense of purpose. Her shadows are pale and drawn but they acquit themselves admirably and Tissaia can’t help the fierce sense of pride that flares as they do what they can to help. At some point she finds herself on the roof waiting to meet a helicopter and snatches a few seconds of quiet, looking up at the snow still falling, watching her breath fog in the air. An image of flakes nestled in amongst Yennefer’s black curls like confetti flashes through her mind unbidden but not unwelcome. The stillness is interrupted by the throbbing of the chopper blades but, just for a moment, Tissaia felt warm despite the cold.

Much later, when the sky is growing light and there is finally a lull in the flow of injured people, she finds herself outside again – this time in the carpark next to some other haggard looking staff, all smoking in silence. Coral appears and leans against the wall next to Tissaia. She takes a few puffs of her vape but glares at in distaste, nodding gratefully when Tissaia holds out her packet.

“Thanks. Only the real deal is going to cut it just now.”

Tissaia passes her a cigarette and then pulls another out for herself. To her dismay and embarrassment, her hand is shaking when she lifts it to her mouth, the lighter wobbling too much to catch. Coral notices and gently takes it from her, lighting Tissaia’s and then her own,

“Easy now. There you go. Get that down you and you’ll feel better.”

Tissaia’s jaw jumps and she scuffs the ground with her shoe muttering, “Thanks.”

“No problem. It must be utter madness in there. We’re lucky; we get them one at a time and out cold rather than all at once and screaming.”

Tissaia just nods, knuckling her tired eyes behind her glasses. She notices a streak of dried blood on her wrist and rubs at it half-heartedly but forgets all about it when Coral asks,

“Is that your Yennefer over there? What the hell has she got on her feet?”

Tissaia looks up and, although it is hard to be certain underneath the layers of clothing and massive hiker’s backpack, she sees Yennefer and someone else traipsing towards them. The bundled-up figures unwind the scarves round their faces and reveal Yennefer and Triss. Tissaia beckons them over,

“What are you doing here? Are you alright?”

Triss lowers her backpack with a grunt and explains, “We’re fine. We didn’t think you’d have time to get food, so we made you breakfast. It should still be hot and there’s enough for thirty people or so.”

Coral investigates the contents of the bags exclaiming delightedly,

“Bless you for this! Is that a _croissant_?”

Triss nods, smiling “Freshly baked.”

She and Coral carry the bags inside leaving Yennefer and Tissaia alone. Tissaia is just staring at Yennefer in silence and the younger woman starts to feel uncomfortable,

“Should I not have done it? I didn’t want to disturb you… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come-“

Her apologies are cut short by Tissaia kissing her hard, smoky and cold at first but melting into a soft heat. When they must breathe, Tissaia releases her,

“You are fucking amazing, you know that?”

Yennefer laughs, “It’s not often I get you swearing.” She grows serious though when she takes in Tissaia’s pale face and tired eyes, “Your shift is almost over, no? Can I take you home?”

Tissaia shakes her head, “I can’t leave yet. There’s another helicopter due in and the last of the ambulances. The only reason we’ve got a chance to catch our breath is they’re having to snowplough the roads to get through.”

Yennefer asks softly, “Are you alright?”

Tissaia blinks hard several times, “It’s been carnage, Yennefer. So many people…” Yennefer tries to draw her into a hug but Tissaia steps back, “I’m sorry. I can’t fall apart, not yet.”

Yennefer places a finger under her chin, “Ok. But look at me, I am waiting for you at your flat. When all this is done, you are coming home to me and I am going to hold you for as long as it takes, understand?”

Tissaia’s lip trembles but she nods then gives a brave smile, “I should go.” She glances down at Yennefer’s feet, “What are _those_?”

Yennefer grins proudly, “Tennis racquets. There’s videos on Youtube on how to turn them into snowshoes.”

Despite everything, Tissaia feels a chuckle bubbling up through her chest and she releases it, suddenly feeling lighter and stronger. Sirens start to wail in the distance, coming closer, and she squares her shoulders before heading back inside. As she reaches the doors, she hears Yennefer bellow after her,

“You’re fucking amazing too by the way!”

And, with that glowing (if not particularly eloquent) verdict spurring her on, Tissaia wades into the fray once more.

* * * *

When she hears the front door open, Yennefer rushes through and sees Tissaia sliding down the wall to sit on the floor with her head in her hands. Her trousers are wet all the way up to mid-thigh, snow caked round her boots and melting rapidly onto the hall floor. Her face is pale and drawn, dark circles under her dull eyes and, despite the cold, there’s a sheen of sweat across her forehead. Yennefer crouches on her haunches in front of her and places her hands on her knees,

“I’m here. Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Yennefer knows Tissaia is exhausted because she doesn’t quip about wanting her undressed or even attempt to bat her hands away as she reaches for the zip on her coat. She strips her right there in the hall, leaving the clothes to puddle on the floor for now and wrapping Tissaia in the big towel she’d been warming on the radiator. Yennefer all but carries her through to the bathroom where a steaming bath is waiting, Tissaia releasing a long sigh as she sinks into the water. She lets Yennefer take the sponge from her who lathers it with soap and gently starts to wash Tissaia, starting at her feet. Little winces and groans come from her as Yennefer finds the tender aching parts, bruised after hours and hours of standing. Up her tight calves, over creaking knees, through the taught-strung fibres in her thighs. Yennefer rubs with her hands, working her fingers gently into the muscles as she washes, taking satisfaction in the loosening of Tissaia’s limbs. She shifts up to the head of the bath, leaning Tissaia back and looping her arms round to wash gently up her belly, between her breasts. If Tissaia was not dead on her feet and Yennefer not intent on taking care of her, the sponge’s journey might have led to all manner of exploration and intimacy. But, for now, there is nothing sensual or erotic in it, Yennefer’s touches careful and tender, Tissaia’s sounds ones of relief and gratitude. As she runs the sponge down her arms and under them, Yennefer frowns at the stubborn dry blood on a wrist. When at last it is gone, tinting the bathwater in a rosy swirl before diluting to nothing, something in Tissaia releases. As though that one streak of blood had been keeping her captive and now that nothing holds her, she falls apart. It is no surprise to Yennefer that when Tissaia cries, she does it quietly. No heaving sobs or indelicate sniffs, but that does not mean it is a gentle process. If anything, her silence makes it raw and desperate with judders through her shoulders, tears rolling down her cheeks, her mouth open in a soundless cry. Yennefer gets as close as she can to the bath without climbing into it, leans Tissaia back against her chest and cradles her in her arms, ignoring her dampening t-shirt. Tissaia turns her head, leaning it against Yennefer’s upper arm and hiding her face as though she craves privacy. But her hand comes up to clutch at Yennefer’s interlocking their fingers tightly, water dripping softly from them. And although it is contrary to her every instinct Yennefer keeps quiet because something tells her Tissaia needs silence to grieve in. When she stops trembling and the little hitches in her breathing even out, Tissaia emerges from the cocoon of Yennefer’s arms and allows herself to be leant forward. She draws her legs up to her chest and curls her arms round them, leaning her chin on her knees as Yennefer washes her back. Satisfied that all the grime and sweat and misery has been washed away, Yennefer reaches for a bottle of lavender oil she’d spied earlier and drizzles some into her palms. She rubs gently at first, tracing circles and v-shapes across Tissaia’s back, cupping both hands up her neck, fanning out across her shoulder blades. As her movements increase in intensity, fingers working at the knots, palms smoothing away the tension, she feels Tissaia slump further against her knees.

Tissaia is not prone to fanciful notions so when she imagines the sensation of her shoulder blades expanding and freeing like wings, she blames it on the lack of sleep. She cannot blame her exhaustion for the way Yennefer has opened her up though, nor for the torrent of emotions threatening to spill out of her so, to give herself something to focus on she speaks,

“I’ve been thinking… what would you like me to call you?”

Yennefer makes an exaggerated pondering noise then speaks, “Both ‘your majesty’ and ‘goddess incarnate’ would be acceptable options.”

Tissaia smiles a little against her kneecaps, her eyes drifting open briefly, “I notice your friends call you Yenn or Yenna – I just wondered if I should. I think we know each other well enough now for nicknames.”

Yennefer is quiet for a moment then replies, “I like it when you call me Yennefer. Yenn, Yenna – they’re all different versions of me from various points in my life but it feels like you’re talking to all of me, each part of me, when you say Yennefer.”

Tissaia sighs as a knot gets worked loose and then nods, letting her eyes close again “Alright. Yennefer then.”

“I need a name for you though.”

“Hmm?”

“You call me ‘my dear’ or ‘pet’ but I don’t have one for you.”

“Perhaps it’s the sort of thing that’s best chosen spontaneously rather than by general consensus.”

Yennefer teases, slowing her touches to featherlight traces, “Did you just advocate spontaneity?”

Tissaia mutters, “It’s the lack of sleep – I’m delirious.”

Yennefer stills her hands, “Speaking of, we should get you into bed. Do you want me to wash your hair?”

Tissaia shakes her head, “I’m too sleepy. Thank you though.”

Yennefer kisses her temple, “Come on, into your PJs.”

Tissaia almost musters the will to protest that she is not a child when Yennefer bundles her in a large towel and rubs her down but not quite. Nor does she object when a t-shirt that belongs to Yennefer but has somehow ended up in Tissaia’s laundry, is pulled over her head. It is too big for her and sports the faces of a band that Tissaia hasn’t a clue who they might be but it’s soft and smells of Yennefer and that makes it perfect. When she falls into the bed, she actually groans it feels so wonderful to be horizontal. Dragging her eyelids open when she feels the mattress dip, she sees Yennefer sitting beside her and holding out a glass with amber liquid in it,

“What’s that?”

“Brandy. It’s meant to be good for shock, right?”

“In the nineteenth century maybe. I’m not drinking it, Yennefer, it tastes vile.”

“Would you reconsider if I delivered it to you in a barrel round my neck like a St Bernard?” Yennefer quips but Tissaia scowls stubbornly so she tries cajoling instead, “Come on, it’ll buck you up – you’re awfully pale.”

Tissaia sighs and grimaces but swallows the alcohol. It makes her splutter and burns the back of her throat but, to her chagrin, she also feels it warming her extremities and fortifying her. Yennefer looks smug,

“See? You’re already a lovely shade of pink. Much better.”

Tissaia just grumbles inaudibly and burrows into the pillows. Yennefer runs the back of her hand lightly over her forehead until she falls asleep then goes to tidy up. Tissaia is still fast asleep a few hours later when Yennefer clambers into bed herself for the night and she lays her arm lightly across her, not wanting to wake her by pulling her into a stronger embrace. She drifts off, biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing at the snuffling noises Tissaia makes in her sleep.

Yennefer does not know what time it is when she wakes but it is still dark. The bed is empty, and she forces her sleepy limbs to pull her upright so that she may go look for Tissaia. There is a light under the door to the living room and she pushes it open. Tissaia is sat on the floor, her back to the door, neat bundles of rope around her and her head bent, concentrating on something in her hands. Yennefer pads up behind her and lays a hand on her shoulder. She is not prepared for what happens next. Tissaia leaps up as though stung and scrambles away, clutching an uncoiled rope so tightly her knuckles are white. Wide-eyed, her voice strangled, she insists,

“ _Don’t_ sneak up on me! Never!”

Yennefer raises her hands appeasing, “Alright! I’m sorry, I thought you heard me come in. What’s the matter with you?”

She has never seen Tissaia so rattled and it takes a moment to put her finger on it. The woman is afraid. Not just frightened, terrified. Tissaia lowers her eyes and fumbles with the rope in her hands,

“Nothing. You just startled me.”

Yennefer reaches for her, “Tissaia…” but pauses when Tissaia shrinks from her, curling in on herself. Yennefer coaxes gently, “Come back to bed.”

“I will. Just let me finish this.”

“The world isn’t going to end if your sailing ropes are untidy.”

Tissaia pleads, her fingers twisting anxiously, “Yennefer, please…”

Yennefer sighs, scrubbing her face with her hand. She wants to take hold of Tissaia and shake her until this new secret between them is rattled loose and out in the open. It is disconcerting her more than she is willing to admit seeing Tissaia like this. Seeing her fragile, scattered, afraid… it has always seemed unimaginable there is anything that can frighten someone like Tissaia. But Yennefer senses this is not a wound that can be poked and prodded, not yet, not tonight. So, even though she wants nothing more than to pull her close, Yennefer steps back from Tissaia. Slowly, as though retreating from a skittish cat or an agitated dog.

“Alright. Just, please, come back to bed when you’re done. Don’t stay on your own all night.”

Tissaia nods and her shoulders lower a little as Yennefer leaves her to her ropes. Yennefer flings herself on the bed and curses, unable to fall back asleep after… whatever the hell that was! She is still awake lying in the dark when Tissaia returns and carefully arranges herself on her side of the mattress. There is thirty centimetres between them at most, but it feels like miles to Yennefer, the empty sheets an invisible, insurmountable barrier she cannot cross. The silence is stiflingly thick, and Yennefer thinks she might explode until, finally, there is a tentative murmur from across the bed,

“Yennefer?”

Yennefer does not respond but shifts onto an elbow looking down at Tissaia lying on her side, her back turned to her. Tissaia asks, barely more than a whisper,

“Would you hold me?”

Yennefer breathes a sigh of relief and moves closer to spoon the smaller woman. And oh, she is small! Somehow she always seems strong and powerful despite her size but now, it feels as though she might disappear if Yennefer does not enfold her carefully enough. Yennefer can barely keep the crack of emotion from her voice when she reassures her,

“Always…”

She trails off and searches for the right name. She has been turning it over in her mind; ‘sweetheart’ or ‘honey’ seem to saccharine and ‘babe’ does not suit Tissaia, ‘darling’ feels too affected in Yennefer’s mouth and things like ‘pumpkin’ or ‘petal’ are frankly ridiculous. Suddenly, it is clear to Yennefer what she should use. It is simple, elegant and is an entirely accurate description of how she sees Tissaia. Yennefer pulls her closer, weaving their fingers together and murmurs,

“Always, my love.”


	12. Sambuca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia struggles to open up, Yennefer gets frustrated.  
> Warning: Implied homophobic violence, referenced historical homophobic attacks

Yennefer pulls off her helmet and shakes her hair loose, delighting in the breath of air that gusts round her face. She has tried to be sensitive about when she rides her bike and for now, Tissaia seems to be content with a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. This last week though, Tissaia has been away for a medical conference, and Yennefer has taken every opportunity to ride. Even if it’s just down to the corner shop for milk. To be honest, she’s relieved this conference came up when it did. It’s been over a month since that night in the snow but there is still something wedged between the two of them. It isn’t constant or obtrusive but every now and then, something grates on Yennefer’s nerves or she catches a twitch of Tissaia’s jaw. The snow melted away as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving them with a brooding, squally November and, if she were poetically inclined, Yennefer would imagine the weather is echoing her relationship. Shaking her head at such melodrama, she climbs the stairs to her flat and lets herself in, flinging her boots and keys and jacket wherever they happen to land. There is a guilty pleasure in the mess that she has allowed to take over in Tissaia’s absence. She’s not stupid enough to let Tissaia’s flat descend into chaos but her own living space is another matter entirely. On the way to the kitchen table, she remembers the date and pounces on the advent calendar, eagerly prising the first window open. Tissaia had got her one from an actual chocolatier, all dark and rich with spices and pralines and fruity centres. Yennefer had been tempted to open every window straight away but the glare from Tissaia had stopped her. Yennefer’s suggestion that really, they should have one in each flat seeing as they were living between the two was met with similar disdain and Yennefer had bristled at the dismissiveness. But then Tissaia had produced a small cellophane bag of ginger and cocoa truffles and proceeded to feed them to her so Yennefer had forgotten about the disagreement over advent calendars. It is the pattern they have been stuck in these last few weeks, something small setting off a roiling tension that teeters to breaking point and is then calmed by a caring gesture, a passionate make out session or a life drama like Eist breaking his arm and Jaskier discovering he is allergic to brazil nuts.

Yennefer’s self-reflection is interrupted by the ding of a video call from her laptop on the kitchen table and she hastily wipes any trace of chocolate from her mouth before answering. Her heart does a little flip-flop when she sees Tissaia who is in full-on professional mode, her hair pulled back in a bun, glasses perched on her nose, wearing a smart blazer and silky blouse with her conference lanyard draped precisely round her neck. It is incredibly intimidating and excruciatingly hot, Yennefer can feel her pulse quicken and she tugs a hand through her hair, hoping it does not look too unruly.

“Hi.”

“Hello. How are you?”

“Oh fine, just pottering about. We’re starting the Christmas menu tomorrow, so I’ve been putting the finishing touches on that. How’s the conference?”

“Fascinating! There was a study legitimising using the deltoid tuberosity as a guide when performing subclavian venous cannulation.”

Yennefer makes a noncommittal sound and tries not to feel stupid when she has no clue what any of that meant. She’s about to compliment Tissaia on her blouse when a voice offscreen calls out,

“Tissa! We need to get ready.”

An angry creature stirs in Yennefer’s chest and she tries to calm its growling. Who is that? And since when does anyone call Tissaia ‘Tissa’? Tissaia shouts over her shoulder,

“Some of us do not take an hour to get ready, Philippa.”

A throaty chuckle followed by, “Don’t be catty darling, you don’t have the stomach for it.”

Yennefer is surprised she cannot see steam coming out of her ears in the little box in the bottom corner that shows her own face. _Darling?_ And who the fuck is Philippa? And her voice – ugh! It reminds Yennefer of cough medicine, syrupy with a fruity sweetness but a bitter aftertaste. It is melodious but not in the way Tissaia’s is which is low and soothing like a rich cello. More like a sultry saxophone that thinks too highly of itself and steals the limelight in a jazz set. The creature in Yennefer’s chest flexes its claws and swishes its tail when the owner of the voice appears on screen. Philippa is older than Yennefer and she embodies self-assurance, swaying into view in heels and a pencil skirt, coming up behind Tissaia and leaning over her shoulder to examine the screen. She plants her palms either side of Tissaia, so the woman is caged by her arms and licks her lips as she eyes Yennefer up and down,

“Oooh is this the pet? You weren’t exaggerating when you said it was a cradle-snatch. Is she even old enough to drink?”

Yennefer grits her teeth, the fact that Tissaia also looks uncomfortable the only thing keeping her from erupting. “I’m twenty-seven actually. And you are?”

Philippa laughs, pointed canines flashing, “A lady never reveals her age, darling.” The unspoken but clear implication being that Yennefer is no lady. Never mind the fact that Yennefer had been asking her name and not her goddamn age. Philippa purrs, “Well, don’t let me interrupt. I do need to steal her away soon though. We have plans.”

She caresses up Tissaia’s arms, digging her nails into her shoulders. _More like fucking harpy talons!_ Yennefer snarls to herself, furious that Philippa can pull off red nail varnish without looking tacky or slutty. And this is what is rankling Yennefer above all else. If she’d met her in a different scenario, she’d probably have thought Philippa hot. Not relationship material perhaps but the stuff of dreams when it came to one-night stands. She is alluring and works her body but is clearly intelligent. And she definitely knows what a deltoid tuberosity is. In the space of two minutes she has made Yennefer feel small and stupid and utterly incompetent. Seeing her next to Tissaia looks _right_ , as though they were matched to one another and Yennefer knows _she_ will never look that well-suited. Philippa catwalks out of the room and Tissaia smiles apologetically,

“Sorry about that. Pippa can be rather full-on but she’s not a bad egg, just best taken in small doses. You were telling me about your menu?”

Yennefer flicks her eyes away from the screen, the creature licking its paw and grumbling, still twitching its tail. “Actually, I’ve got lots to do. And you’re obviously busy. I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”

“There’s no need, I-“

“I’ve got to meet Triss, we’re changing the starter options!”

It is a complete falsehood, but Yennefer needs to escape this conversation now. Tissaia looks hurt but clears her face almost immediately, smoothing her features into composure,

“Of course, you go do what you need to, and I’ll speak to you later. Give my love to Triss. And you. I miss you.”

“Alright. Bye.”

Yennefer practically slams the laptop shut and stomps back downstairs. She rides faster than she should, taking turns too sharply, purposely pushing the engine until it is whining at her. And once she is clear of the city boundaries and has some open road in front of her she pulls over, removes her helmet, and then kicks off again. It is stupid and she knows it. But the wind makes her cheeks smart and her eyes water, tugging at her hair. It blows through her skull and chest, clearing away the sticky cobwebs of doubt and rage that have gathered. When she gets home, windswept but mercifully in one piece, there is a text from Tissaia on her phone. And, unable to give herself a reason for her actions, Yennefer deletes it without reading then flops on the sofa to watch one of the crappy romcoms she enjoys but Tissaia hates.

* * * *

Tissaia sighs inwardly. There are ways she would much rather spend her day off other than feeling ungainly and cold, but they have not been out together in ages and it was Yennefer’s turn to pick. She eases her grip on the barrier slightly and tries pushing off like Yennefer had shown her but all that happens is she wobbles precariously on her skate before landing on her backside on the ice for what feels like the hundredth time. It had been nice to start with, Yennefer holding her up and balancing her, skating along so the two of them travelled together. Holding Tissaia round her waist and gliding them round the rink or turning to skate backwards and pulling Tissaia by her outstretched arms. But then Yennefer had left her at the side and gone off on her own, Tissaia teetering about like a new-born calf trying to co-ordinate its legs, ignoring the group of teenagers sniggering at her. Tissaia tries not to feel snubbed or like she is being punished but there has been something crackling between the two of them since she got back from the conference. She has apologised for Philippa’s behaviour and tried to reassure Yennefer but every time she reaches out, Yennefer finds some excuse to leave or changes the subject. And, if she is honest with herself (which she usually is), the fault is not entirely Yennefer’s. Tissaia knows she has glossed over that night with the ropes, letting it fester over the last month. And she had been snippy today when Yennefer offered to take them both into town on her bike. It had been a peace offering but Tissaia had crossed her arms and pontificated,

“You know my feelings on the subject. I won’t stop you riding Yennefer, but I’m certainly not going to encourage it.”

Tissaia grits her teeth and hauls herself back upright, settling for leaning against the barrier and watching rather than trying to skate. Yennefer is sweeping round in figure of eights, pirouetting and doing trick jumps. She’s awfully good and Tissaia feels her mood improve watching her, ponytail streaming behind her, long legs clearly outlined in Lycra, eyes flashing whenever she succeeds in a difficult manoeuver. Any such generous sentiments are quickly crushed however when Yennefer glides up to a beautiful, dark-skinned woman and they start to skate together.

Yennefer can feel Tissaia’s eyes on her, burning her from across the ice and she is bitterly satisfied – she wants an audience for this, and she wants Tissaia to have a front-row seat. She had seen Fringilla and an idea formed in her mind almost immediately. Fringilla is one of the instructors at the rink and Yennefer doesn’t much like her but she’s a beautiful mover and she won’t refuse the chance to outshine Yennefer. They start moving in unison but not touching, sweeping up and down the rink, turning and twisting. Yennefer adjusts so she’s in front of Fringilla who reaches out to grip her by the hips and glide them along before spinning Yennefer out in a pirouette. And oh, the woman knows how to play this game. The flick of her hands into the spin was more forceful than necessary, and she smirks at Yennefer landing with a hand outstretched, so it looks like she’s beckoning and Fringilla is following. If they didn’t dislike each other, they would be a force to be reckoned with. Their moves become more and more complex, intense, dangerous. Yennefer is no longer certain whether the tension is antagonistic, competitive, sexual or a mix of all three. Regardless, it is making a thrill course through her veins and she gives a dark laugh when a jump garners applause from the crowd now watching them. She reverses and hurtles towards Fringilla, looking for all the world as though they are hell bent on colliding with one another. At the very last moment, she leaps and, although Yennefer was not certain she would, Fringilla catches her, wrapping her legs round her waist and spinning the two of them on a single skate. The momentum of their clash lets them spin all the way down to the ice and back up again, bodies entangled round one another, and eyes locked in a furious stand-off. Breathless and buzzing with adrenaline, Yennefer steps away and gives a little curtsey to their audience. Fringilla skims her hand round her hip and leans in close to whisper in her ear,

“Whoever that little show was for, they must have pissed you off royally.”

“Who says I wasn’t just doing it to get at you?”

Fringilla laughs unpleasantly and replies, “Either way – I’m happy to oblige. It was worth it to watch you try and keep up with me.”

She skates away and Yennefer tosses her hair. She still dislikes the woman, but she can’t pretend she didn’t enjoy their dance for power.

Tissaia is about to explode. She’s not certain whether it will be sadness or anger that spills out of her, but she knows it will be torrential. Yennefer had been unbelievably beautiful, mesmerising, as she moved with that woman. And part of the magic had been her partner. They were both young, supple, feisty and something had simmered between them. Tissaia has never felt so… plain. So unremarkable and down-to-earth. Even if she had known how, she would never have had the nerve to throw herself into those jumps and spins. Even if she had been younger, she knows she would never have looked so natural next to Yennefer. And she is not young. Or vibrant or daredevil. Because she has seen too much, felt too strongly, lived too long to be that reckless and carefree. Yennefer is ecstatic when she comes up to her, almost as though she is high, and seems oblivious to Tissaia’s inner torment.

“That was fun! Are you ready to go? A friend of mine has a coffee van nearby and I want to visit. He does the most amazing cappuccinos.”

Tissaia is silent as they change, during the walk and in the queue for the van. She does not need to talk as Yennefer is chattering away and Tissaia feels a headache creeping up on her. If there was only a moment of quiet, she may be able to sort through her thoughts and express what is gnawing at her. What is driving a wedge deeper and deeper between the two of them.

Yennefer is panicking. Tissaia is withdrawn and taciturn and Yennefer is talking absolute nonsense to fill the silence. She knows she should shut up or at least say something useful like, “What’s gone wrong between us? Talk to me.” But she is frightened, and it is easier to grab hold of heightened sensations like the thrill of antagonising Fringilla or being watched with envy by the crowd.

“Yenna! It’s good to see you! What can I get you ladies?”

“Hello Istredd! Long time no see. What do you recommend?”

“Well, I got my liquor licence so I’m doing coffee alcohol combos now too. Something to put an edge on the evening, huh? How about Sambuca? There’s a trick I’ve been trying out with coffee beans and a lighter – it’ll be a chance to practice.”

Yennefer nods and watches amused as he pours a shot of the Sambuca and then drops three coffee beans into it one at a time,

“Prosperity, health, happiness. Or so they say.”

Yennefer puts an arm round Tissaia and leans in to peck her lips, her voice straining with the forced cheerfulness,

“Just what we need!”

Tissaia gives a tight smile and turns her head so Yennefer lands on her cheek instead. Istredd looks awkwardly between the two of them and clears his throat then ignites the alcohol, blue flames licking up and toasting the coffee beans. When the smell of anise and coffee is thick in the air, he blows the flames out and passes the glass to Yennefer,

“ _Salut_ _e_!”

“ _Alla nostra_!”

She downs it and pays, not even bothering to ask Tissaia if she’d like one. It is clear the woman wants nothing other than to be anywhere else. And Yennefer’s panic is starting to turn into anger, the creature in her chest rousing its head and sniffing the air. She chats with Istredd a moment while Tissaia wanders off to sit on a bench under some trees. Even Yennefer knows that’s just plain rude and the creature starts to growl.

Tissaia sits because her legs are shaking with the effort of controlling herself. People assume introverts don’t feel strongly. They are wrong, Tissaia thinks. If she is any example to go by, then they are consumed by emotions, they just don’t display it every waking moment. She knows the only way back from this precipice is space and quiet and so, she takes refuge on the bench, gazing up at the bare branches of the ornamental trees, searching for patterns in them to focus on. The stillness is ruined by Yennefer stomping over, dark hair tossing and eyes flashing, a walking whirlwind that Tissaia is powerless to batten down the hatches against.

“ _What_ is your problem?”

Tissaia squeezes her hands together, staring at the ground, “Let’s not discuss it here.”

“Oh right, because we don’t do anything in public now apparently. Don’t you raise your eyebrow at me! You couldn’t stand to have me touch you just now in front of Istredd.”

“That boy is clearly in love with you. It was cruel to be flaunting our relationship in front of him.”

Yennefer slaps her thighs, mocking, “Hah! You’re trying to pass your frigidness off as concern for Istredd?” She glances over at the truck and then hisses, “And he is _not_ in love with me.”

Tissaia raises her eyes to bore into Yennefer, daring her to keep lying, “He is, and you know it. And what’s worse, I think you enjoy it. You enjoy other people wanting you more than you want them.”

“And what if I do? I spent too long being unwanted, unloved. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that happen now.”

Tissaia stands abruptly, “ _I_ have made _you_ feel unloved? You’re the one who was parading about with that woman just now, her hands were all over you. Did it even occur to you how much that would hurt me? Leaving me to stand at the side and _watch_ as you made crowds of people want you?”

Tissaia turns away, hugging herself but Yennefer grabs her shoulder and forces her back round, “Oh, if we’re bringing up flirtations then tell me, who the hell is Philippa? She was practically fingering you on that video call!”

“I told you already! She’s an old friend, we studied together, she happened to be at the conference, and we were going out for drinks with colleagues.”

“And you’ve never slept with her? Don’t try to pretend there’s no history there.” Yennefer smirks unpleasantly, “Her hands were far too familiar with your body.”

Tissaia flushes a little, “We briefly dated years back, but it was finished a long time ago. We’re just friends now, nothing happened at the conference!”

Yennefer scoffs disbelievingly then demands, “Can you blame me for flirting with Fringilla? You won’t even let me hold your hand in public.” Yennefer grips Tissaia by her shoulders and shakes her a little, “What are you so ashamed of?”

Tissaia’s head snaps up and there are angry tears in her eyes as she clenches her hands round Yennefer’s forearms, “You think you know what shame looks like? Let me tell you about shame, about fear. I remember the West London murders. I was at _The Admiral Duncan_ the night of the Soho bombings. I know what it felt like to walk down the street and force yourself not to hold your partner’s hand. Not because you were ashamed or a coward but because it meant the difference between the two of you getting home safely or ending up in hospital.” She pauses to catch her breath, lowering her hands to curl into fists at her sides, “I don’t care how ‘out and proud’ you are – living with that caution, that fear… it does something to a person, Yennefer.”

Yennefer steps back, shoving away from her, “Are you finished with your history lesson? Because that’s what it is, Tissaia. History. There isn’t anyone waiting round a corner to jump out and attack you for holding my hand. The only thing keeping you afraid is your own repression and that stick up your arse!”

“I’m an introvert, that doesn’t make me repressed! And you have no idea what it was like, what I went through! None!”

“That’s because you won’t tell me about it! And so, you had some tough times? We all do, and we get over it. Because what is the point of being alive if you don’t live for your own enjoyment?”

“Do you have any idea how selfish that sounds?”

Yennefer throws up her hands in exasperation, frustration making her voice rise in pitch, “Why? Why is it selfish to want to take everything I can get? Who decided there is something exemplary in settling for less? It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! I don’t need you to deny yourself in some noble sacrifice to protect me. I don’t want you to!”

Tissaia steps forward, her hands clasped at her solar plexus, trying to still the tempest rattling around inside her, “Then what? What more do you want?”

Yennefer whirls round to face her, locking eyes with her, “Everything.”

Tissaia is silent for a moment, shutting her eyes against the regret, swallowing the grief, “Then nothing will ever be enough for you.”

And because Yennefer once promised herself that she would never allow anyone to abandon her again, she is the first to turn and walk away. Leaving before Tissaia can walk out on her. Hating herself for it but desperate to have the upper hand, Yennefer throws back over her shoulder,

“Well, this certainly wasn’t.”

Tissaia sinks back onto the bench and nudges her glasses up onto her head so she can bury her face in her hands. There are several reasons she gives herself to explain what happens next. Because she can feel the shiny smooth line of her scar under her fingers. Because certain times of night on a quiet pavement make her remember things she’d rather forget. Because she cannot bear the thought of never holding Yennefer again. But all Tissaia’s reasoned explanations do not change the fact that, to her horror, she cries in public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for this... it had to happen because these two together was never going to be simple...pair of stubborn idiots! It WILL be fixed!  
> NB: I do not for a minute imagine that homophobia is no longer prevalent or violent. Yennefer's statement to that effect is for dramatic purposes rather than my own view and will be corrected in later chapters.  
> NB: Never ride a motorbike without a helmet people!


	13. Absinthe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer goes looking for Tissaia.

Yennefer is slumped over her own bar when Geralt finds her. Service ended an hour ago and she has spent the best part of it drinking absinthe. She’s doing it Bohemian style; sugar cube on the slotted spoon, set it alight and plunge it into the green alcohol. That she is using her crème brûlée torch to produce the flame is, she will freely admit, overkill. But she is beyond giving a damn. About appearances. About safety. About anything, frankly. The smell of burnt sugar, liquorice and medicinal herbs is creating a fug round her, exacerbated by the cigarette smoke. Not that she is smoking. She’s just lighting them (again with her blowtorch) and letting them sit in the ashtray because they are Tissaia’s brand and the smell is adding an extra edge to her disillusionment and misery. Geralt swears, wafting the pungent haze away with his hand,

“Christ! What the hell are you drinking?”

“Absinthe. That’s what heartbroken individuals drink to forget their pain isn’t it?”

“You’re not in the _Moulin Rouge_. And you’re doing it wrong anyway. That flaming sugar gimmick is from the nineties. You’re meant to dilute it with ice-cold water and sip it, not down it.”

“You’re really going to lecture me on the ceremonial history of absinthe right now? Does this make you my Green Fairy?”

Geralt grunts and takes the bottle away, cleaning the mess of ash and stickiness she has created across the grey slate. He ignores the scathing look she gives him when he sets a pint glass of water in front of her and then just stands there waiting, perfectly still and in complete silence.

“ _What_ , Geralt?”

“It’s been almost a week, Yenn. It’s time to fix this. Triss says you’re a liability in the kitchen, she keeps having to salvage dishes you ruin. And she was almost in tears after you laid into her about the chocolate fondants. She only asked for your help, but you nearly bit her head off.”

“I’m never making those again. Not those.”

Geralt says nothing, only waits and Yennefer curses him for it. Because he knows, better than anyone, that she will inevitably break and fill the silence. She had planned to insult him but what comes out instead is,

“She was crying, Geralt. _Crying_. And I kept walking. I left her on a sodding bench in the cold, late at night, sobbing her eyes out. How do I come back from that? _How_ do I ‘fix’ that? Some things can’t be mended.”

“You talk to her.”

“She won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“Then you go and look for her.”

Yennefer shifts uncomfortably, hackles rising at the thought of being so subservient. She has never been the one to apologise first, never gone after someone. It means putting herself in a vulnerable position, admitting that she wants something that is not hers to just reach out and take. And Geralt knows her too well because he insists,

“This is one you want to chase, Yenn. I know you hate being the one to do the asking, that you think it makes you weak to follow someone rather than beckon them towards you.”

“Can you blame me? Offering yourself to someone is just asking to be rejected, to be abandoned.”

Geralt leans on his elbows on the bar, lifting her chin gently with a calloused hand, “You can’t keep playing that card. It’s time to let it go. Unafraid but not reckless, remember? Sitting here is being afraid, being cowardly. And you’re not a coward, Yenn.”

Yennefer shuts her eyes against the tears that threaten but loses the battle when Geralt comes round from behind the bar and pulls her into a bear hug. He gives good hugs, he always has. She leans her cheek against the solid warmth of his chest, feels his ponytail tickling her over his shoulder. When she has calmed, her holds her at arm’s length and urges,

“Go on. I’ll lock up.” He watches her gather her jacket and rucksack then adds as she reaches for the door, “And Yenn? Don’t be afraid of silence, sometimes things are best said slowly, or without words at all.”

She nods although she is not certain she understands. Then, zipping her jacket tight against the cool night air, she steps out into the street and starts to walk.

Tissaia is not at her flat or the hospital, the nurses say her shift finished at six that evening. Calanthe informs Yennefer over the phone that no, she is not with them. Her tone of voice implies she knows exactly what has transpired and it makes Yennefer glad there is approximately forty-five kilometres of driving between her and Calanthe. When she hangs up Yennefer scuffs the pavement with her boot uncertain where to look next. It’s too late for any of the parks to be open and the bookshop Tissaia likes will be shut too. Each failed attempt is making the dread in the pit of Yennefer’s stomach grow, turning into the old, sticky fear that she is unwanted and that everyone knows it. No! She shakes herself and forces her brain to think rather than be dragged into that dark lonely place. Nenneke. She might know. A quick search on her phone and Yennefer has found which church Nenneke presides over, its address and the fastest route there.

* * * *

The church is one of the multiple Gothic Revival structures that are scattered across the city, its spire joining the Uni’s in the skyline. Its main door is solid wood with a conspicuously modern Stanley lock embedded in it. It is fortuitous that it is sturdy because, without any other means of getting Nenneke’s attention, Yennefer resorts to hammering on it with both hands. She is in danger of waking the neighbours or having the police called or both, when she hears a voice behind her,

“Yennefer?”

She turns round and sees Nenneke in a dressing gown and Ugg boots.

“It _is_ you. Why on earth are you battering down the door to my church at eleven o’clock at night?”

Yennefer feels suddenly very stupid. Obviously Nenneke doesn’t live in the church, she’s not Quasimodo! She gestures sheepishly,

“I’m sorry. I needed to talk to you, and I didn’t have your number. I thought you’d be inside.”

“I tend to be in my own house at this time of night, not the Lord’s. What’s wrong? You look like someone in need of hot chocolate. Come on, the vicarage is just next door.”

Yennefer allows herself to be led through the little archway covered with a spray of roses into the small, tidy garden that fronts Nenneke’s house. She pauses at the door,

“Is Tissaia here? I don’t want to come in if she’d rather not see me yet.”

“Why would she be here?”

“We’ve had a falling out. I’ve been looking for her, I need to speak to her, but she won’t answer the phone.”

Nenneke ushers her inside and makes her sit down on a lumpy but comforting sofa, producing two mugs of hot chocolate before Yennefer has even had time to take her jacket off. It is clear this is something the priest has had call to do on numerous occasions. Yennefer wonders how many people have sat here and asked for the answers to their problems. Her eyes slide away from the small crucifix on the wall and the painting of the Virgin and Child, coming to land on an impressive stack of vinyl records, The Hollies’ _Another Night_ being the topmost sleeve in the pile.

“You like The Hollies?”

“You’re too young to know who they are, surely?”

“There was a cassette of them in the recreation room at the orphanage.”

Yennefer decides there must be something in the hot chocolate to loosen people’s tongues. There is no other reason for her divulging so much of her past in a single sentence to a woman she barely knows. A woman who is a priest, no less. Nenneke just smiles as though she knows what is going through Yennefer’s mind and leans back in her armchair.

“Then someday you and I need to have a proper chat about my record collection. But I get the sense you have more urgent matters to discuss?”

Yennefer nods and sets her mug down, “I need to find Tissaia and I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. I was hoping you might know where she is.”

“I might. But why do you want to speak to her?”

“I said some things, did some things I need to apologise for.”

“And after that?”

Yennefer tilts her head questioningly and Nenneke presses further, “After you apologise, what then? Tissaia does not treat affection lightly, whether given or received. If you’re leading her up the path on a jaunt, then I suggest you leave things be. It will break her if you return only to leave again.”

Yennefer tries not to bristle at the implication that she is a flake, “I don’t know what we’ll do next. But I do know I don’t want to be without her. Please, I have to see her.”

Nenneke analyses her over the rim of her mug and must be satisfied with whatever she finds because she reaches for a pen and paper.

“I’m not certain this is where she’ll be but it’s worth a look. Here’s the address.”

“Thank you.”

Yennefer stands and zips up her jacket, reading the slip of paper and calculating it will take her at least two buses to get there. Nenneke sees her to the door and puts a hand on her arm to hold her still a moment,

“Just… it might not be what you’re expecting. Whatever else you do, give her the chance to explain before you react to it all.”

“React to what?”

“It is not my story to tell, Yennefer.”

And with that cryptic piece of advice and an assurance that she will be praying for the two of them, Nenneke shuts the door. Yennefer shakes her head and stretches her legs which have stiffened after all the walking. There’s a bus in eight minutes so she makes her way to the nearest bus stop, the city quiet with that gloomy Sunday-night realisation that the weekend is almost over.

Google maps and Nenneke’s slip of paper have taken her to a part of town Yennefer is unfamiliar with. A neon sign with the same Japanese characters as Nenneke had scribbled announces she has found the right place, but Yennefer is none the wiser as to where she is or what she will find behind the screen door. All Trip Advisor tells her is that it has a four-and-a-half stars rating and that the service is friendly. Making her way inside she sees it is a bar with the clean lines, neutral colours, bonsai trees and sliding doors that scream ‘Japanese minimalism’ just as loudly as most of Yennefer’s furniture screams ‘Swedish flatpack’. A decidedly Caucasian bartender greets her and asks if she’s here for the demonstration. Yennefer is at a loss as to what else to do as she cannot see Tissaia at any of the tables. So, she nods, and he points her past a painted screen to a door that has some calligraphy on it and printed in English underneath it the word ‘Studio’. There is a sign requesting she remove her shoes but no one asking for her ticket, so she assumes it is free entry, kicks her boots off, and tentatively pushes the door open. It is dim inside, all the light focused on a space at the front of the room. The audience space is covered with bamboo mats and is fuller than Yennefer had expected given the nearly empty bar. She forgets all about the audience however when she looks across to the performance space. A woman wrapped in an intricate pattern of ropes and knots is suspended from a beam, her body manipulated into a strange shape, contorted and constrained. A man running more rope through his hands seems to be deciding where next to tie a knot. Yennefer is about to back out, but someone hisses at her for making noise and she crouches down on the corner of a mat, hoping it is like the theatre and there will be some applause soon during which she can sneak out. Yennefer has tried her fair share of experiments in the bedroom, but this is taking things to a whole new level. The woman is fully clothed as is the man and there is nothing overtly erotic taking place. But the intensity with which he stares at her as he ties, the raw emotion on her face as he twists something tighter, it is possibly the most sensual thing Yennefer has ever seen. The rope is not just there to restrain, she can see the patterns it creates, the shapes and lines formed by the woman’s limbs. Yennefer’s idea of bondage is handcuffs and maybe a blindfold, not this…ritual. And it is making her uncomfortable. As she is selecting the choicest curses to throw at Nenneke for sending her here in some sort of practical joke, a gasp from the woman tied up draws Yennefer’s eyes to the front of the room again. And then she is forced to lower her backside to the bamboo mat as her haunches will no longer support her. Not only do her knees give out but Yennefer is certain her jaw is literally hanging open. Because there in the front row with legs neatly crossed, barefoot and a spellbound expression on her face, is Tissaia.


	14. Saké

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia opens up, Yennefer learns the value of silence.  
> Warning: Depicts physical assault and attempted sexual assault, contains homophobic language and drug misuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Settle in and grab a cuppa for this one because it's long... there were many things that needed to be said.

_The cobblestones digging into her back have been shoddily re-laid making them uneven. Tissaia finds it odd that her brain is processing something so mundane at a time like this. She decides there must be some part of her that is separate and observing from afar because she is now making mental notes. Top of the list is the reminder to remove one’s glasses before one gets hit in the face. Not least because they are expensive to replace. But also, because (as she is discovering first-hand) smashed glass and jagged plastic being ground into one’s face is never going to end well. The man pinning her down lands a particularly vicious blow and pain snatches her away from her list-making, forces her into the present. She feels his fingers scrabbling at the button on her jeans and she tries to kick but he is so much bigger than her. What was meant to be an angry protest comes out as a whimper and the fear surges making her feel nauseous._

_Please God, not this. Anything but this. She will withstand any amount of beating just spare her this violation._

_Additional voices become audible, all male, all drunk and all hurling abuse at her. But Tissaia welcomes her new persecutors with open arms because her assailant is not prepared to rape her with an audience and his hand leaves her underwear. She can feel he is still hard, pressed against her thigh. Robbed of his gratification, he returns to beating her with a new vengeance. His punches interwoven with insults and taunts. And he and his cohort say such awful things. Horrible, violent, cruel things. Tissaia tries not to listen but the words sink into her, burying themselves inside her._

_She is glad though to hear. She cannot see, her glasses are smithereens and there is blood in her eyes which she tries to blink away in between the blows. She cannot move, the man is heavy, and she is flagging, no longer even able to squirm. But she can hear. And that is some comfort because as long as her brain is still processing sound then the man has not yet beaten her senseless, not yet thrashed her into a coma from which there is no waking up. Although, when she hears singing, Tissaia wonders if perhaps she is already dead. However, she doubts the angels would be quite so off-key or that St Peter is a woman with a broad Scots accent._

_“Stop that this instant, you coward! How dare you? Get away from her!”_

_One of the men jeers and must advance in a threatening manner because the woman cautions, “Oh you think very carefully before laying a finger on me son! The police might turn a blind eye to ‘just another gay bashing’, but it will be a very different story if you assault a vicar.”_

_The woman points at the man still holding Tissaia down, “You get off her before I brain you with a dustbin. And the rest of you, go home to your wives and daughters, your sisters and mothers, and apologise to them for the disgraceful things you have said about women tonight. Get out! All of you!”_

_When the man stands, Tissaia feels so light and unencumbered she could be floating above the cobblestones. He delivers a final, well-aimed kick to her flank then Tissaia hears several pairs of feet walking away, accompanied by loud hawking spits and mutterings. Her avenging angel crouches down beside her and strokes her forehead,_

_“Hush now, sweetie. It’s over, they’re gone. Can you move to sit up? That’s it. You look young enough to own one of those mobile phones. No? Not to worry, there’s a phone-box down the street, you’re going to need an ambulance, I think. Here, let me wipe some of that blood out of your eyes then you might see better. Your glasses are ruined I’m afraid. Do you have a spare pair? Ah well, we walk by faith and not by sight. Two ticks while I call that ambulance.”_

_Tissaia winces and hisses but allows herself to be lifted into a sitting position and leant back against a wall during this verbal deluge. When the woman returns, Tissaia clears her throat to speak. Her lips are split, and her tongue feels too big for her mouth, but she manages to croak,_

_“How did you know I was gay?”_

_Later, it seems ridiculous that this is the first thing she asks. But it is an urgent question. Because apparently not being subtle enough is what got her into this mess in the first place._

* * * *

To say Tissaia is stunned when Yennefer pulls her from the crowd exiting the _Shibari_ studio would be an understatement. Her stomach drops and her pulse skyrockets at the commotion of feelings rushing through her. Anger, disbelief, shame, lust, relief and, yes, it is there still, love. It takes all her self-control not to punch Yennefer or to fall at her feet and beg to be held. Extreme reactions of both kinds being successfully avoided, Tissaia asks,

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Nenneke gave me this address. What are _you_ doing here?”

Tissaia inhales and exhales slowly. This is not how she imagined this conversation happening. But perhaps it is time. She takes a seat at one of the tables in the corner and gestures at the other chair, inviting Yennefer to join her. When they are settled and she has waved to Giltine at the bar to order her usual, Tissaia adjusts her glasses then speaks,

“I imagine you have questions.”

Yennefer looks like she wants to pounce on her, whether to wrap her in an embrace or throttle her, Tissaia is not certain. But the younger woman takes a deep breath and makes a visible effort to calm herself. The confusion on her face is still evident however when she speaks,

“Those weren’t sailing ropes I found you with that night.”

“No.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Yes. I used to come regularly but less frequently of late.”

“Have you ever done more than watch? Have you… participated?”

“Yes. We use the terms ‘rigger’ and ‘model’. I have done both.”

“Why did you come tonight?”

“I needed to. Our argument unsettled me.”

“You _needed_ to?”

Tissaia does not reply as their drinks are being served. And because it is saké and they do things properly in this bar, it takes several minutes for the serving ritual to be completed. When at last, Giltine steps away, Yennefer smiles bitterly,

“Three hours ago, I was necking neat absinthe and setting fire to things with a blowtorch. Meanwhile, _you_ are drinking out of” she gestures at the delicate cups, “ _pottery_ , and have a water chaser.”

“We’re different, Yennefer. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

Tissaia meant to sound reasonable but it came out as indifferent and she kicks herself inwardly. Yennefer tugs a hand through her hair in frustration,

“It’s _not_ a surprise but it’s starting to feel like it’s a problem.”

Tissaia is quiet, searching Yennefer’s face for any trace of mockery. She is still not certain why the woman is here, and it is making her cautious. Yennefer insists,

“Say something!”

Tissaia reaches for the salt and pepper shakers designed to fit together and twists the salt until it sits at an odd angle. Staring at it she speaks,

“For as long as I can remember, certain things being out of place has annoyed me. Perhaps annoyed is not the right word… it doesn’t make me angry; it distresses me. It’s like there’s a rough edge my brain gets caught on and I can’t concentrate or relax until it’s smoothed out.”

She straightens the salt and is able to lift her gaze from it,

“It is by no means debilitating, if I have to ignore something rather than adjust it, I can. But it is uncomfortable. I think that’s one of the reasons I became a doctor. People should not be hurt, should not be broken. Fixing them smooths the rough edge away. I have taught myself tricks to work round it when things are not under my control. Sometimes it is as trivial as making my stethoscope hang evenly or always being on time. Sometimes it takes more to settle me.”

She pauses and drinks, pouring some more rice-wine from the flask into her cup before continuing,

“When I was twenty, I discovered _Shibari,_ that is what this style of ropework is called, after an incident when control was taken from me. The patterns, the attention to detail, every knot and line exactly in its place – it helped more than any amount of therapy or medication had done. There is a stillness, a trance-like calm, that comes when you are the rigger. Every part of you, mind and body, is focused on tying correctly, safely, beautifully. And although it is your model who submits, it is you who are serving. There is something freeing in concentrating solely on another’s needs and desires, your own problems take a back seat. When you are the model, you give up control, responsibility, decision making. You suffer, yes, there is no point denying that pain plays a part in it. But the pain clears your mind, quietens all the thoughts that won’t leave you. And there is a power in accepting that you are powerless, when you stop struggling against the restraints, when you withstand the pain one moment longer than you thought you could bear – it gives you a different kind of strength. One that is not reliant on things being within your control.”

Yennefer is, miraculously, quiet and Tissaia can practically hear the cogs turning in her brain as she comes to a decision. Without saying a word, she reaches across the table to where Tissaia’s hand is resting and carefully lays her own over it. Tissaia feels the warmth of her fingers, the slight tremble in them, and she feels too the words behind the gesture. The apology, the tenderness, the fear. Yennefer lets them sit in silence for another moment before saying softly,

“Would you tell me what happened? You don’t have to, but I would like to understand. And, in case you’re wondering, I am not going anywhere. No matter what you say next.” She blinks and swallows hard, “I will not give up on us again, and I am so desperately sorry that I did. Forgive me.”

Tissaia feels like all the air has been forced from her chest in one great rush. She still does not understand why Yennefer has come back or what she sees in Tissaia, why she has chosen this when she could have anyone, anything she wants. But, Tissaia thinks, perhaps she does not need to understand it, to control it. Perhaps all she needs to do is trust it. And so, she turns her hand until her palm meets Yennefer’s and interlocks their fingers, then starts to speak.

“One night, almost twenty years ago to the day in fact, I was walking back from a club. A gay club but not one of the well-known ones. I was still finding my feet and coming to terms with my sexuality so wasn’t quite at the stage of ‘waving the rainbow flag’ if you’ll forgive the expression. I’d thought choosing a less obvious haunt was a safety measure, but I was naïve and new to the city. It is part of the legacy of Section 28 that there was a generation of queer people left without any form of network or support. It was literally illegal to offer advice on how to come out safely or introduce young questioning people to older, more established figures in the community who could keep an eye on them. And so, I was navigating my new identity alone without anyone to point out the obvious pitfalls of walking home alone with a rainbow tag around your wrist on a night when the football crowds were out in force.”

Tissaia removes her glasses to rub at her eyes and fingers her scar carefully,

“People who wear glasses fall into two categories; those who have been hit in the face and those who have not. Anyone who has been will tell you – do everything you can to remove them before you get hit.”

She slides them back onto her nose and gives a wry smile, “It was just one of the many things twenty-year old me had yet to learn.” Her smile fades and she shuts her eyes briefly before continuing, “A group of lads was following me. I thought I’d managed to lose them when I went up an alley but one of them, a big bloke, caught up with me. The first punch dropped me, I’d always thought it an exaggeration when characters in films got thrown backwards by a single blow, but I crumpled like a ragdoll. He pinned me and kept hitting me, again, and again, and again. The other lads joined us, and they started egging him on. He did not rape me, but I am certain he would have if it had just been the two of us. I will not repeat the awful things I heard that night. I do not need to – every person like us can imagine, or has heard for themselves, what was said to me, said about me.”

Yennefer squeezes her hand harder and Tissaia can see the anger simmering in her. She rubs her thumb over the back of her hand soothingly because none of these memories hurt more than the thought of Yennefer being in pain. Yennefer must know what is going through her mind because she says forcefully,

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare comfort me when it is you who have suffered. I told you, I do not need you to protect me. Allow me to share the pain, Tissaia, allow me to help you carry it.”

Tissaia reaches her other hand out across the table and Yennefer grasps it. It is as though every little touch they make is slowly rebuilding them, each one an apology, a promise, a question, and its answer. It is slow, careful rather than a passionate, all-consuming embrace but Yennefer begins to understand what Geralt meant. Her instinct was to rush head-on and sweep Tissaia up in her arms, but it is this, these individual moments of contact, that are knitting the two of them back together. Like a jigsaw puzzle done methodically rather than just jamming the pieces together until they fit. Yennefer can’t help thinking Tissaia can read her mind when she looks up and sees the hint of amusement in her eyes. As though the older woman knows that Yennefer is beginning to understand silence, to understand subtlety. Tissaia clears her throat and continues her story,

“I don’t know how long it lasted but it ended with a vicar on a bicycle and a very wobbly rendition of _Once in Royal David’s City_.”

“Nenneke?”

Tissaia smiles and nods, “An angel with a surprisingly violent streak when filled with righteous anger. I believe she threatened to throw a dustbin at one of them. She had been rehearsing a carol service with her congregation and was cycling home from the church when she passed the alley we were in. They could easily have ganged up on her, but she gave them such a scolding they left with their tails between their legs. It’s all a bit of a blur after that but she was still sitting beside my bed when I came round the next day. Between her and the doctor looking after me I survived with nothing but this scar. I could so easily have been disfigured, brain damaged, paralysed – I should have been, I’d been beaten so badly. It made me decide to change my specialism to emergency medicine. To be able to take people at their most broken and put them back together… it was, it still is, magic to me. Nenneke introduced me to other queers and took me out on protests and marches. In many ways, that night was the making of me. I found my community and my vocation. And I found a courage I did not know I had. Not the reckless, wild abandon that people mistake for bravery. But the strength to be myself.”

There is more to be said but Giltine is discreetly tidying up and has already kept the bar open longer than usual for them so Tissaia stands.

“Come on, we should let them close up. My car is parked a few streets away, do you need a lift somewhere?”

Yennefer tries to hide her disappointment that Tissaia does not think they are going home together and nods, “Thanks, that would be great, I’ve done enough walking for one night.”

Tissaia reaches for her jacket over the back of her chair but Yennefer stops her, “Here, let me.”

She holds it out for her to put her arms through and slips it up over her shoulders, smoothing it down. She restrains herself from pulling Tissaia into her and lets the moment be another touch, another stitch, in closing the wound between them. Tissaia nods in gratitude and, once they are outside, reaches for the zipper on Yennefer’s jacket and does it up more snugly. Patting it with satisfaction once she is content that Yennefer is warm and cosy. Again, Yennefer fights to not pounce on her and is rewarded when Tissaia links their elbows to walk. They reach the corner on the main road and round it, nearly colliding with a group of youths. Tissaia mutters an apology and they steer round them, but they have not made it more than three steps when one of the boys calls out,

“Check the rack on that milf! You looking for a poke?”

Tissaia stiffens and Yennefer tries to pull her along,

“Just ignore the little bastards.”

Another jeers, “You’re wasting your time – they’re lezzies.”

“No man that’s a good thing, we like watching two sluts together. Come on, give us a show!”

“Dykes! Dykes! Dykes!”

Tissaia is trembling and Yennefer whirls round, “What did you just call us? Say it to my face you little shit!”

The oldest one squares up to her, anxious to not lose face in front of his mates, and spits at her. Yennefer does not have time to retaliate before Tissaia is in front of her, eyes blazing and grabbing the boy by his sports jacket.

“Tissaia! Leave him! It’s not worth it!”

Tissaia dimly hears Yennefer trying to calm her and the irony is not lost on her. But something has snapped inside her, and the boy has morphed into that man, that man who almost broke her. She is preparing to inch her fingers from his lapels up to his throat when a shout pulls her from the rage that is roaring through her. Another of the lads has collapsed and is fitting, his limbs jerking violently. Tissaia blinks and the boy in front of her becomes just a boy, just a scared, angry boy lashing out. She releases him and rushes to the one on the pavement, turning him as he vomits and dialling an ambulance. She looks up at his friends, demanding,

“What have you been taking?”

Sullen silence and shifty looks are all she gets, and she insists,

“I’m a doctor, not the police. _What_ has he taken?”

The oldest one, the one who had spat at them, says quietly, “Speed. And we’ve been drinking.” He comes up to them, twisting his hands together, “Is he going to be ok? He’s my brother.”

Tissaia does not answer because she’s talking to the call-handler on speaker phone as she tries to keep the boy from choking.

“Adolescent male, suspected amphetamine overdose coupled with alcohol consumption. Presenting with convulsions, hyperthermia and vomiting.”

She reels off the address then hangs up so she can concentrate on keeping his airway open which is proving difficult with him thrashing about. The paramedics take over when they arrive and Tissaia steps away, trying to wipe the vomit off herself with some paper tissues in her handbag. The ambulance leaves and Tissaia cannot help herself from offering the boys a lift to the hospital. She feels Yennefer staring at her incredulously, but it goes against everything in her nature to leave these frightened children on a pavement. They bundle themselves into her car and sit in silence, demure as choirboys, while Yennefer glares daggers at them from the front seat. At the hospital, Tissaia checks on the kid with the overdose and having contented herself that he will live and that his friends are now safely in the lap of a government institution she returns to Yennefer in the car.

“Thank you for waiting. I wanted to check how he was.”

“And?”

“He’ll live. Stupid child. All of them, stupid children.”

“They’re not all your responsibility, you know. You can’t fix everyone.”

“I know… There’s somewhere else I need to go before I head home.”

“Do you want to go alone? I can get a taxi.”

“No, I’d like you to come with me. Thank you for asking though, I appreciate it.”

Yennefer nods. This ‘thinking before speaking’ lark is hard work but she’s starting to get the hang of it. Tissaia drives them to the nearest police station then parks. Yennefer looks confused,

“Why are we here?”

“I need to report a hate crime.”

“I thought you didn’t want to press charges against those little shits.”

“Not them.” Tissaia turns in her seat to look at Yennefer, reaches across and takes her hand, “I never went to the police all those years ago. I was too much of a coward, too ashamed. Nothing would have come from it, or so I told myself.” She sighs, “It is time to lay the ghost of it all to rest. I know it’s unlikely anything can be done about it and I’m not looking for convictions or compensation. But I want what happened to me to be put in writing. It doesn’t matter if all that happens is, I become one more statistic, one more in thousands of us. Because some day, someone will stumble across that sheet of statistics and they will know it happened. They will know that we got to a point where it was no longer considered acceptable. And that is something worth being a part of.”

Yennefer lifts her hand to her mouth, slowly, giving Tissaia plenty of time to refuse, and brushes her lips lightly against it. The taste of her skin almost breaks Yennefer’s resolve to not rush in and demand everything all at once. She manages not to clamber over the gearstick and take Tissaia right here up against the steering wheel in the carpark of a police station, gross public indecency be damned. This time there is definitely a smirk dancing at the edge of Tissaia’s mouth as if she knows exactly what Yennefer is picturing. Inside the police station, the desk sergeant takes her details and asks them to wait for an officer to take her statement. Tissaia knows the database on his screen will inform him she was released without charge but that doesn’t stop her from keeping her hands firmly on the counter to reassure him that she is not about to assault him whatever her record might indicate. The officer who takes her statement is rather young but polite and sympathetic. He even thanks her for the trust she has placed in them and apologetically explains there is probably not much to be done without descriptions of her attackers or CCTV footage. They return to the uncomfortable plastic chairs to wait for copies of the statements to be made and signed. As they sit, Yennefer crosses her legs at the knee and Tissaia lets her hand rest on her kneecap, rubbing little circles with her thumb. Yennefer eases her arm round her and cups the small of her back, stroking gently. They sit in silence, but their touches speak volumes, the language that has been developing between them all night becoming more and more expressive.

“I have never been so glad to spend time with you as I am tonight.”

Tissaia lifts an eyebrow, “I have subjected you to a bondage show, A&E and a police station. I’m covered in someone else’s vomit and we’re drinking instant coffee out of Styrofoam cups. You have a strange idea of a good time, my dear.”

Yennefer smiles far too widely at the return of the endearment and teases, “Using humour to avoid sincere conversations is _my_ trick. Stop it.”

Tissaia’s dimple flashes momentarily before it is smoothed into a pious expression, she cannot stop the cheeky glint in her eyes though and it makes Yennefer’s heart sing. She urges,

“I’m serious though. I’ve never been prouder to know you. You are brave and kind and clever and _good._ Your skill saved the life of a boy whom you had every reason to hate. You have had the courage to tell people what happened to you, and to survive, no to _thrive,_ despite it. You let me rant and ask invasive questions at the start of the evening, when the first thing I should have done was apologise, not demand answers.” Yennefer turns in her seat and cups Tissaia’s face, “I am glad because it has shown me how fucking beautiful you are, vomit and all. And that you are so much more than enough. _You_ are my everything.”

For the second time in her life, Tissaia resists the urge to hit a police officer as her statement is brought over and she is handed a blue biro. She signs quicker than she has ever written her name before and shakes the man’s hand enthusiastically in lieu of waiting to make small talk and awkward goodbyes. Leaving him to stare in confusion, she drags Yennefer out into the carpark by the hand. It has started raining but Tissaia does not give a damn because she is arranging Yennefer’s hands on her waist and flinging her own around her neck so that she can pull her down to kiss her. And oh! It is a wonderful kiss. The gentle, careful touches through the night have built up and up to this and Tissaia feels like she may float away on the joy of it, the healing of it.

Yennefer sees stars behind her closed eyelids. The warm shift of Tissaia’s lips beneath hers, the tentative brush that gives way to a sweet pressure, the strong but tender grasp of her hands on the back of Yennefer’s neck, the way her body melts against Yennefer, the wretched barrier between them finally lowered. It is stealing her breath away and she thinks she is crying although she cannot tell with the raindrops that are pattering on their faces. Yennefer has come to think Tissaia tastes of rain, fresh and cool and sweet. Although she suspects that is because she always seems to be kissing her in the rain. Tissaia’s hand burying itself in her curls brings her back into the moment and she smiles against the older woman’s mouth before wrapping her arms round her waist, picking her up and spinning the two of them until they are dizzy. Tissaia breaks from their kiss to tilt her head back and laugh but recaptures Yennefer’s lips fiercely when she lowers her to the ground. Yennefer pulls away and leans their foreheads together, breathing together until they are in sync because she wants to savour this moment of joy and oneness before the heat of passion takes over. Tissaia strokes her cheek and murmurs,

“Come home with me?”

Yennefer smiles and does not have to speak. Some things are said best with no words.

It is so late when they finally get in that it is early morning. Too tired to do anything but fall asleep, they undress and get under the covers together. As she settles herself in Yennefer’s arms, Tissaia asks sleepily,

“Would you take me on a bike ride tomorrow?”

Yennefer chuckles and pulls her closer, “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note on shibari. Also known as kinbaku or Japanese rope bondage, it is a form of bondage that focuses on the art and skill rather than the erotic element. While some practitioners combine eroticism with their ropework it is primarily a sensual, therapeutic, bonding experience between a 'model' (bottom) and 'rigger' (top). For more information on specifically shibari: www.shibaristudy.com and for general rope & bondage safety information: www.theduchy.com


	15. Whisky (Again)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer takes Tissaia for a bike ride, Tissaia learns to give up control.  
> Some tooth-rotting domestic fluff and a bit of smut after all the angst we have endured.  
> 

The bed is empty when Yennefer wakes and for one awful moment she wonders if her reconciliation with Tissaia was just a dream. But she can smell her on the pillows and the scent of coffee and tobacco drifts through the open bedroom door. Yennefer stretches languidly with a broad smile on her face, Tissaia is in her kitchen and that is a wonderful thing. Her smile dims however when she recalls last night’s revelations. Yennefer’s blood boils and her teeth clench whenever she thinks about what happened to Tissaia. But she prefers the anger to the sadness, the awful grief that snatches her breath away. She had not known someone else’s suffering could hurt this much. She is pulled from her brooding by the sound of Tissaia humming. Yennefer smiles again, she’s heard Tissaia whistle before but never this. Tiptoeing so as not alert Tissaia that someone is listening, Yennefer moves to the bedroom doorway. She’s got a nice voice, higher and sweeter sounding than her speaking voice but just as velvety. Yennefer pads through to the kitchen and leans on the doorframe watching and listening, her heart expanding until she thinks she may have to clutch at her chest. Tissaia is wearing nothing but a sleepshirt that brushes mid-thigh, her feet bare and her hair loose around her face. Her buttons are only done half-heartedly, a tantalising flash of cleavage visible through the loosely fastened shirtfront. As she moves around the kitchen making breakfast, she does a sashay every now and then, a box-step on her way to the fridge, a shimmy as she reaches for a spatula, all to her own little tune that she’s humming. Yennefer sighs dreamily and Tissaia spins round,

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to fall even further love in with you.”

Tissaia blinks and looks taken aback but then a wide smile slowly spreads across her face and she crosses to Yennefer in two bounding steps. (Which is impressive given the width of the kitchen and her small stride but Yennefer refrains from commenting on it, suspecting it will earn her a spatula to the backside.) Tissaia grabs her by her t-shirt and pulls her down so she can bop a little kiss on her lips. Yennefer reaches to pull her close and deepen it but Tissaia places her fingers against her mouth, holding her back,

“Breakfast first. I did not slave away making omelettes only for them to go cold whilst you have your way with me.”

Yennefer pouts, “I think that’s the first time someone has used _omelettes_ as a stalling tactic.”

Tissaia swats her then lays the table, making Yennefer sit before she presents her with a plate. Yennefer has to admit it smells amazing and she is ravenous, so she has the good grace to look up and smile,

“Thank you.”

Tissaia leans down to kiss her forehead, “You’re welcome, pet.”

But then a frown appears between her eyebrows. Yennefer sets down her fork (not without some regret) and reaches out to lay a hand on her hip,

“What is it?”

“Do you mind me calling you ‘pet’? I’ve always meant it affectionately but when I heard Philippa use it, I realised it sounds possessive and degrading, as if you were something to be owned and played with.”

Yennefer scoots her chair back and pulls Tissaia down to sit on her lap, “I’ve noticed you switch from ‘my dear’ to ‘pet’ if you’re taking care of me… I think that should allay any qualms you have about using it.”

“But do _you_ like it?”

“I don’t remember much of that day in the hospital when I cut my hand. It’s all a little fuzzy.”

“I’m not surprised, you almost split your skull open. It’s probably just as well you’re hazy on the details, you were rather…forward.”

“And it would be unethical for you to use anything I said or did against me given I was incapacitated.”

Tissaia only smirks but softens when Yennefer continues,

“As I say it’s mostly a blur, but I do have a clear memory of you calling me ‘pet’ and feeling like I’d just come home after a long time away. Nothing makes me feel safer or more cherished than hearing you say it.”

Tissaia cups her chin and tilts her face up so she can kiss her, and Yennefer is so tempted to go further, but she can’t resist the chance to throw Tissaia’s earlier words back at her. So, she nips at Tissaia’s bottom lip and then pulls away,

“Now get off me woman and let me eat my eggs. After all, we can’t have them going cold.”

Tissaia groans and stands, “I should have known that would come back to bite me.”

Yennefer reaches out and curls a hand round her thigh, “Biting you say? Now there’s a thought.”

Tissaia smacks her hand away and gives an exasperated huff but her cheekbones have pinked and Yennefer grins. They eat without further antics and, despite the frustrated ache between her thighs, Yennefer cannot help luxuriating in the domestic bliss of it all. Tissaia is barefoot and unbuttoned across the kitchen table from her and although she had always expected to balk at being domesticated, Yennefer is more than happy to wake up to this every day for the rest of her life.

* * * *

Tissaia is cursing whatever misguided notion led her to suggest this. Yennefer is showing her the component parts of her bike, explaining the mechanics behind it all. Tissaia knows she’s doing it to try and put her mind at ease, to demonstrate that it is a carefully assessed risk and that Tissaia is in knowledgeable, safe hands. But that doesn’t stop the omelette from earlier churning horribly in her stomach and her palms turning sweaty. Yennefer must sense her unease because she rubs her shoulder soothingly,

“We don’t have to do this if you’d rather not.”

“I want to. I want to feel what it’s like to let it all go, to embrace a little bit of danger.”

“Alright then. But if you want to stop, at any point, you tell me ok?”

Tissaia nods and then makes herself concentrate on Yennefer’s instructions rather than imagine the myriad ways this could go wrong.

“This is a roadster not a sport-bike, so we won’t be racing round circuits or horizontal with the tarmac, it’s not going to be like the Grand Prix, ok? You’ll be sitting here.” She pats a small saddle behind the main one, padded but not particularly wide. “It doesn’t look like much, I know, but your feet will be taking some of the weight as well as your butt. These here are footpegs, you put your feet here and you don’t put them down again, even if we stop at traffic lights. You’ll see me lowering my feet to the ground, but I need you to keep yours on these yes?”

Tissaia nods, “Feet up, butt in the seat. Got it.”

“There’s no backrest so it’s fine, it’s a good idea in fact, if you lean into me. You can hang onto my waist as much as you need but don’t grab hold of my shoulders or arms. The wind will make it hard to hear one another so, if you’d like me to slow down tap my shoulder once and if you need to stop tap it twice.”

Yennefer beckons her round the back of the bike, “This is the exhaust, it gets hot so avoid touching it. And watch for this here, it pinches so keep your legs clear of it. Now, it might feel like we’re tipping over, but bikes need to lean going round corners so don’t panic if we do tilt to the side. Don’t lean with me, it’ll upset the balance, just look over whatever shoulder is on the side we’re turning and that should be enough. Any questions?”

Tissaia shakes her head nervously and Yennefer smiles, “You’ll be great. It’s all very intuitive. And I know what I’m doing, trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

Yennefer grins widely and looks inordinately pleased with this admission. She fetches a leather jacket and some gloves,

“Here. The jacket will be a bit big, but it’ll do the job. And last but certainly not least, helmet. I got you one without a visor so you can still wear your glasses underneath.”

She zips Tissaia into the jacket and fastens the chinstrap of her helmet then steps back, whistling in admiration,

“Damn! You look like you were born for this. We are so getting you your own leather jacket, even if you never ride again. This is something I need to see again.”

“Oh, is it now?”

Tissaia won’t admit it out loud but she rather fancies herself in the jacket too. She waits as instructed until Yennefer has settled in the saddle and got the bike balanced before stepping onto the footpeg and swinging her leg over. She settles and places her hands round Yennefer’s waist then startles a little when the engine kicks into life beneath her. It is hard to describe the sensation of having that much raw power humming between her legs, it is visceral, terrifying, thrilling. As they kick off and weave through the side-streets to get on to the motorway, Tissaia realises quickly that everything is raw and real on a motorbike. She can feel the engine, smell the bacon rolls from the bakery they pass, hear the wind whipping past her. All the sensations that one is cut-off from inside a car are hitting her and it is dizzyingly wonderful. The warmth of the bike and Yennefer’s body at odds with the chill wind and underpinning it all, the knife-edge between fear and excitement.

When they reach the little village that serves as the gateway to the loch, Yennefer pulls over and cuts the engine. She lowers her feet and then turns to speak over her shoulder,

“Are you in one piece back there? You can put your feet down now and climb off.”

Tissaia is still trying to catch her breath, her hands clutched around Yennefer’s waist, “Just give me a minute. I think my legs will give way if I try to stand up.”

Yennefer chuckles, “I’m going to take legless and out of breath as a good sign.”

“Oh, it is, my dear.”

Tissaia takes off her helmet so she can lean her cheek against Yennefer’s back, eyes shut and pulse still racing. Her arms wrap more snuggly around her waist and she decides this is what heaven feels like. Shaking and giddy with adrenaline but with Yennefer there to anchor her, to hold her together. Presently, she decides her knees will cope with standing and clambers off the bike. Yennefer parks up and removes her helmet too, reaching into a saddlebag for a thermos. She waves it at Tissaia,

“Can I tempt you to an old favourite?”

“You are incorrigible, you know that? Let’s walk a bit first, I need to stretch my legs.”

The shoreline is pebbly and follows the loch all the way round making it a pleasant walk without being taxing or requiring planning like the trails up to the hills. They walk in silence for the most part, but their hands are joined. At one-point Yennefer skips down to the water’s edge, rooting about for something. When she returns and presents Tissaia with a pretty shell, Tissaia smiles and pockets it. When a gust of wind throws Yennefer’s hair over her face and she fumbles with it, Tissaia smooths it back, tucking it behind her ears. Little moments, each one precious. They reach a log and perch on it, Yennefer pouring hot toddy for them both. Tissaia hums in appreciation,

“I think the taste of this was what made me decide to go out with you. I had been dithering, but this was what sealed the deal.”

“And here I thought it was my charm and good looks. But no, you were just after my cooking. How very 1950’s of you.”

“And just _who_ made the breakfast this morning? I grant you that chocolate fondant was nothing short of an aphrodisiac… maybe the way to my heart _is_ through my stomach.”

Yennefer wriggles her eyebrows, “Please, we all know the way to a woman’s heart is situated several inches below her stomach.”

Tissaia admonishes, “You’ve always got one thing on the brain, haven’t you?”

“Would you rather I didn’t think about it? I can assure you it’s always with the aim of figuring out new ways to make you scream.”

Tissaia blushes furiously but there is a hint of a smirk round her mouth and she lowers her voice to the growl that makes Yennefer’s legs wobbly, “I should hope so. After all, I’ve got almost ten years’ worth of experience on you, so you’ll need to work hard to keep up with me.”

Yennefer swallows and releases a shaky breath, downing what’s left in her cup. She turns suddenly, a wicked glint in her eye,

“Hang on, you didn’t drink for ‘tied up during sex’ when we played never have I ever. You cheated.”

Tissaia’s teasing fades however and she grows serious, “ _Shibari_ isn’t about sex, Yennefer.”

Yennefer scuffs at a pebble with her boot, her eyes on the ground, asking hesitatingly, “But could it be?”

Tissaia turns to her, lifting her chin up so she can look her in the eyes, “Do you want it to be?”

Yennefer sighs, “I’m…not sure. I’m certainly curious about it all. And it seems such a part of who you are, I wouldn’t want you to think we couldn’t share it.”

“We can explore it if it’s something you genuinely want to. But you mustn’t feel pressured just because it’s something I enjoy; I would choose you over it in a heartbeat.”

Yennefer smiles, looking reassured, and nods, resting her forehead against Tissaia’s for a moment. “Thank you. Maybe we can discuss it again later.”

“Of course, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Tissaia nuzzles their noses together, “But, for now, pour me some more of that and then you can take me home and show me exactly what route you’ve been planning to my heart.”

* * * *

They are barely through the front door before Tissaia has grabbed Yennefer and pulled her against her, walking them backwards to the wall. She’s so focused on Yennefer’s mouth that she hits the wall harder than she meant to and knocks the air from her lungs. But trivial matters like oxygen are nothing compared to the overwhelming desire to have Yennefer’s lips on hers so Tissaia keeps kissing her. When Yennefer wraps her lips round Tissaia’s tongue and sucks, Tissaia thinks she might faint. It’s sinful it feels so good, making her eyes roll back in her head. She hears rather than feels her jeans being undone, the pop of the button and slide of the zipper making her shake with anticipation. Yennefer’s hand has just delved past her waistband when the younger woman suddenly goes rigid and all her passion dissipates. Tissaia drags her eyes open to see Yennefer almost in tears and withdrawing her hand from her trousers as though she has been stung.

“What’s wrong? Yennefer?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” she shakes her head miserably and Tissaia lowers them to sit on the floor, cradling Yennefer against her chest.

“What’s the matter? Talk to me.”

“I’m terrified I’ll hurt you. I can’t help thinking of what happened to you, what was done to you. And I can’t bear the thought of doing something that will bring all that back. It’s stupid! It was _you_ it happened to and you’re not afraid so why am I?”

“I’ve had almost twenty years to come to terms with it, you have had less than twenty-four hours.” Tissaia shifts so she can cup Yennefer’s face, “You’re not going to hurt me. I _want_ you to touch me, do you hear? I want this, and I want _you_ to give it to me.”

Yennefer still looks conflicted so Tissaia stands and holds out her hand, “Come with me.”

She walks them through to the bedroom and makes Yennefer sit on the edge of the bed then goes to the cupboard in the hall where her sailing gear and other ropes are stored. She selects a length made of soft cotton rather than the more robust hemp. Returning to the bedroom she kneels in between Yennefer’s legs and holds it out in her hands,

“I am giving you control. That is how much I trust you. Do you understand?”

Yennefer looks between the rope and her face several times then smiles nervously, reaching out to run her fingers over the rope curiously, “I don’t know what to do with it.”

“I can show you.”

And she does. Before she does anything else though she places the blunt-nosed scissors on the nightstand.

“Never do any tying without these within reach. If in doubt, cut.”

“Does that not ruin the mood somewhat?”

“Not as much as nerve damage or asphyxiation will. Cut first, ask later.”

Then she kneels behind Yennefer on the bed, getting her to draw her knees up to demonstrate the knot round her thighs. Tissaia runs her hand over her thighs, warming them, making contact before trailing the rope round them lightly, just to introduce it to her skin. Then she starts to tie, reaching round Yennefer and tying it from her perspective to make it easier for her to replicate. Tissaia demonstrates, explaining as she goes,

“This is what we call a single-column tie, it’s the basic way to tie any two parts together. You always start by folding the rope in half. The loop it creates is called the bite the other end is the tail.”

She binds the tail round her thighs twice, “These are called wraps, make sure they’re snug side-by-side and that they sit nice and flat against the skin. Then your bite goes round the whole lot, over the tail and pull it tight. And always do another knot on top to stop it collapsing and self-tightening.”

She pulls on the tail, “See, even with force, the knot stays stable and you don’t end up cutting off blood-flow or with nasty rope burns.” Undoing it again, she hands the rope to Yennefer. “You try.”

Yennefer’s tongue pokes out in concentration but she manages it and, after a couple of goes, Tissaia nods in satisfaction then stands so she is in front of Yennefer. Keeping her eyes on her she takes off her shirt and reaches round to unhook her bra, pulls her jeans down and steps out of them before sliding her panties off. Completely bare and wide-eyed with longing, she kneels and holds out her wrists.

“I want you to tie me and then make love to me. I am giving you control; I trust you.” 

Yennefer nods and carefully ties her wrists together, checking with Tissaia that it is right and looking pleased with herself when it is. Any residual doubt or awkwardness she may still have had, evaporates when Tissaia gives a little sigh of pleasure and looks up at her through her eyelashes. Yennefer suddenly feels strong and powerful, not in a dominating belittling way but competent and self-assured. She will be the one to give this to Tissaia and she is going to do it well. And so, unsure where it is coming from but deciding just to let it flow, she harnesses this new confidence and tugs lightly on the tail.

“Get up. And lie back on the bed.”

Tissaia complies, settling herself against the pillows. Yennefer, still fully clothed, straddles her and pulls her wrists up to the slatted headboard. She panics momentarily, wondering if a granny knot will suffice but then realises the single-column tie will do just as well round the slats as it will a limb. Sure enough, it works, and Yennefer feels a warmth in her chest when Tissaia looks proud. She tests the tension, making certain Tissaia cannot escape but that she has room to shift if need be. Then gets off the bed and walks round it, watching Tissaia, naked and prone, her breath quickening and shifting a little on the mattress with anticipation.

“You look fucking gorgeous like this.”

Tissaia trembles and Yennefer asks, “You like it when I say things like that hmm?”

Tissaia replies with a breathy “Yes” making Yennefer’s stomach drop but she pulls herself together and continues,

“All mine, just waiting there. Are you imagining what I might do to you? Is it making you wet?”

God knows it’s making Yennefer wet and she’s not certain how long she’ll manage to keep up the control without just diving in and worshipping Tissaia’s body. She moves to the foot of the bed and starts to undress slowly, Tissaia’s eyes raking over her and her hands straining against the ropes, desperate to reach out and touch her. It is gratifying to say the least and Yennefer indulges in some teasing, twirling so that Tissaia can see every part of her. When she is bare, she climbs onto the bed and crawls slowly up towards Tissaia, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. Tissaia gasps into her mouth and arches up but Yennefer holds her down firmly,

“No. You let me set the pace, or I will stop.”

Tissaia whimpers but nods and sinks back into the mattress. Yennefer rewards her by rolling a nipple between her fingers, licking them first so they slip over the rosy bud. She moves her hands upwards to Tissaia’s face, earning a groan but she shushes her,

“Don’t be greedy. Can I take your glasses off?”

There is a millisecond of hesitation, without her contacts in Tissaia will be as good as blind and that could bring back all sorts of memories. She nods though and Yennefer carefully lifts them away. With gentle touches, she starts to trace Tissaia’s face. Tissaia balks when she brushes over her scar and tugs at the ropes, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, eyebrows knitting together. Yennefer reaches up to her wrists and stills them, keeping her hand there until Tissaia has calmed,

“Alright?”

Another nod. Yennefer returns to the scar, to round her eyes, to her cheekbones and nose, her jaw. She does not know where all Tissaia was hit but she discovers those places whenever her touches elicit a small frown or a stiffening. But she keeps tracing gently until nowhere makes Tissaia shudder anymore and then presses a careful kiss to her scar.

“These places are mine now, nobody else gets to be remembered in them.”

A tear leaks out the corner of Tissaia’s eye and Yennefer thumbs it away then kisses her again, slowly, languidly, stroking their tongues together and curling round her lips until Tissaia is hot and needy again. This time, Yennefer allows her to arch up as she places hot open-mouthed kisses down her torso, her tongue flicking out to leave cool damp marks and her hair trailing down Tissaia’s skin in the wake of her mouth. She pushes Tissaia’s thighs further apart and uses a hand to spread her folds gently,

“So beautiful, so wet. Do you want me to touch you?” A frantic nod. “I can’t hear you, my love, do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! God, Yennefer, oh!”

Her pleading ends in a sharp gasp as Yennefer presses firmly on her pearl with the pad of her thumb. Tissaia tries to raise her hips for more but Yennefer holds her down with her other hand. Tissaia whines and the sound almost breaks Yennefer’s resolve, but she holds back and continues teasing her fingers up and down her folds with light strokes, occasionally flicking or pressing with her thumb. She is hot and slick and impossibly soft and when Yennefer slides a single finger into the clinging heat, she can feel Tissaia’s heartbeat throbbing under her fingertip, pulsating through the inner muscles. Her walls start to flutter, and Yennefer withdraws. Tissaia’s protests turn into a gasp as Yennefer undoes the rope round the headboard and pulls Tissaia up to a sitting position. She settles herself behind her, Tissaia in between her legs, her back pressed against Yennefer’s front and her thighs spread, hooked up over Yennefer’s knees. Unsure if it is the right kind of knot, or any kind of knot at all, but doing it anyway, Yennefer takes the tail of the rope and wraps it round her own back. She brings the end in front of them and fastens it to the wraps round Tissaia’s wrists binding the two of them together, trapping Tissaia against her and anchoring her hands. Then caresses her hand over Tissaia’s throat, pressing lightly for a moment, sliding it down to pinch her nipples, down her belly and finally, to dip between her legs and stroke her. Burying her face in Tissaia’s hair and groaning at the smell of her shampoo, the softness of her waves against her cheek, Yennefer starts to thrust.

Tissaia cries out and bucks her hips as much as she is able, but she is trapped between Yennefer’s limbs, vulnerable and open. And it should frighten her, but it is exhilarating, everything is raw and real, but Yennefer is warm and solid behind her. Her breath is hot and frantic against Yennefer’s neck as she turns her head to bury her face in the curve of it, inhaling the scent of her skin and sweat and that perfume. Yennefer’s fingers are demanding, stretching her, setting a punishing pace, hooking up inside her. An avalanche starts to rumble in her chest, rolling down through her ribcage, her belly, her abdomen, crashing in waves to between her legs and clenching her round Yennefer’s hand. A soundless cry rips from her and her head falls back against Yennefer’s shoulder, her eyes rolling back into her head. Just as she thinks she might explode and fade to nothing she hears Yennefer insist,

“Stay with me, my love. Tissaia, look at me.”

She opens her eyes and the tempest of emotions raging through Yennefer’s violet ones, deep enough to drown in, is what tips her over the edge, falling off the cliff but it feels like flying.

Yennefer would be alarmed at the violent tremors coursing through Tissaia and the whimpering sound she is making if it weren’t for her blue eyes locked on hers, clear and focused, telling Yennefer she is still here, still alright. Yennefer holds her until she stops shaking, sinking into a floppy bundle, sweaty and panting. She undoes the knots and releases Tissaia’s wrists, rubbing them and stretching the joints. Then, lays back with her in her arms and waits until she comes back to herself.

“Yennefer?”

“Hmm?”

“That was awesome.”

Yennefer bursts out laughing then adjusts them so she can pull the covers over them. She is about to spoon Tissaia, but the older woman turns around,

“You’ve done enough for one night, it’s my turn to hold you.”

Yennefer smiles and lets Tissaia snuggle up behind her, laying an arm across her torso and stroking her curls, murmuring sweet nothings into her ear. And as she drifts off in Tissaia’s arms, Yennefer can’t help thinking this is what heaven feels like.


	16. Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer and Tissaia go on a fancy date. Tissaia gets revenge for all of Yennefer's suggestive comments since they met.  
> NSFW smut in this one, potential squick: strap-ons
> 
> I realised the 'Pretty Woman' parallels after writing. So if you dig that vibe, enjoy! And if not, rest assured it was written indpendently of the film.

When Tissaia wakes she has to bite back a laugh. Yennefer has sprawled and starfished her way into a tangle of limbs and sheets, her hair tousled over her face, an ankle dangling off the bed and an arm flung dramatically above her head. Tissaia meanwhile is still neatly aligned to her side of the mattress in the compact bundle she had curled into whenever Yennefer had rolled out of her arms. She is just summoning the will to get up and make coffee when she spies an offer too good to refuse. The sheet swathed round Yennefer has left a breast exposed sitting tantalisingly above the edge of the fabric, just begging for attention. And who is Tissaia to refuse such a prettily made request? It would simply be bad manners to ignore it. And so, she shifts down the bed until her mouth is level with Yennefer’s chest and darts her tongue out to flick lightly over the mocha nipple. Yennefer is a deep sleeper and only shifts slightly. Tissaia smirks, she will need to work harder it would seem. She curls her tongue round the nipple and massages the full roundness of Yennefer’s breast with her fingers, pulling more of it into her mouth with her lips. She bites ever so gently around the areola and Yennefer wakens with a groan, her hands weaving into Tissaia’s hair,

“Morning you.”

Tissaia does not reply with her mouth otherwise occupied but she hums her approval when Yennefer’s fingers card through her hair, nails lightly grazing her scalp. As she flicks her tongue back and forth across her nipple, Tissaia reaches her other hand down between Yennefer’s thighs and starts to stroke. Yennefer exhales slowly and arches her head back, mewling when Tissaia spreads her folds and circles her nub lazily. Tissaia’s fingers slip inside her beckoning and thrusting with firm strokes. Yennefer gasps,

“Tissaia… oh god!”

Her belly clenches making her half sit up before falling back against the bed and clenching the pillow in her fists. It does not take long, Tissaia biting down on her breast and flicking her thumb in polyrhythm with her fingers, Yennefer bowing her back and swearing at the top of her voice,

“Fuck! Oh god, fuck!”

As Yennefer shivers and comes back down, Tissaia lifts her mouth away with a popping sound and purses her lips,

“There’s no call to be that loud, especially using that sort of language.”

“You try being woken up like that and see what comes out of your mouth.”

Tissaia still tries to look stern but she can’t keep the smugness off her face, and she strokes Yennefer’s belly tenderly,

“Well, you gave me such a wonderful time last night, I thought I should go some way in settling the balance. After all, everything is a competition isn’t that so, my dear?”

Yennefer groans and pulls a face, but her eyes are all dewy with endorphins and affection, so her pouting is ruined. She attempts to pull Tissaia in for more, but the older woman sits up,

“It’s not Monday anymore I’m afraid. I’ve got a shift and you’ve got to get to the restaurant. Come on, sleeping beauty.”

At the breakfast table, Yennefer dips her finger in the sugar bowl when Tissaia isn’t looking then asks,

“Would you like to do something for Christmas? I know Calanthe has invited us to hers for Christmas weekend, but I thought it might be nice to do something just the two of us before that.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

Yennefer shrugs nonchalantly, “I may have bagged us two tickets to the Opera House.”

Tissaia drops her knife and Yennefer grins at the way her eyes widen in delight,

“You’re not serious? Those are extortionate at this time of year! I hope you didn’t fork out all that money?”

“You let me worry about how I got them.” Tissaia frowns and Yennefer reassures her, “It’s all above board, I promise, nothing dodgy. Just some luck and a contact on the inside.”

“Oh, I’d love to go! How did you know?”

“Calanthe told me when I asked her what you would enjoy but never request yourself.”

“Has she stopped threatening to disembowel you after our argument then?”

“We’ve reached a detente with mere amputation of non-essential appendages so by Christmas she should be content with just glaring at me.”

Tissaia throws her a mildly-chastising sideways glance but then does a little wriggle of glee, her smile wide and dimples flashing, “When are we going? What are they showing? Have I mentioned I love you?”

Yennefer laughs and stands, pressing a kiss to her cheek, “We’ll talk about it all when we get back tonight but I have to run, even Triss’ patience has its limits. And you’d better hurry too if you want to miss the traffic.”

Tissaia nods and waves her off before gathering her own coat and bag, humming to herself and, if she flings her scarf round herself a tad theatrically, who can blame her? After all, it’s not every day one gets given tickets to the Opera House.

* * * *

Yennefer slips into her best cocktail dress and studies the result in the full-length mirror she had insisted Tissaia buy. How Tissaia had managed with just a half-mirror and still looked so immaculately put-together, Yennefer will never understand. The slow but steady incursion of Yennefer’s property into Tissaia’s flat is almost complete and they’re all but agreed to give up the lease on Yennefer’s place. Tissaia is anxious she keep some assets in her own name however, she’s being rather matter of fact about it all,

“I will probably die before you and, until we get your name on my flat, I’d rather you had something of your own. Just in case.”

Yennefer had not known whether to be offended at being treated like a child, thrilled that Tissaia wanted to put the house in both their names or appalled at the thought of Tissaia dying and leaving her alone. So instead of processing any of the above emotions, she had picked Tissaia up and laid her across the kitchen island for a fierce and messy quickie. They have not spoken about flats again, but Yennefer can tell when Tissaia is trying to broach the subject and always finds something else to say or do. She shakes herself from such thoughts and returns her attention to her reflection. The dress is black satin with a lace overlay and sits off the shoulder with a slit up her thigh. Just enough skin on show to be daring but classy enough to still look elegant and be acceptable in polite company. She keeps her hair down and leaves her neck bare, she doesn’t have the right jewellery to go with this dress. The dress is long, so heels are going to be necessary and Tissaia has said she doesn’t mind but Yennefer still opts for low wedges rather than stilettos. If nothing else, she doesn’t want a crick in her neck from bending down to kiss Tissaia all the time. She’d had a sneaky rummage through Tissaia’s wardrobe earlier in the day and hadn’t seen anything that looked like a cocktail dress or evening gown. And when Tissaia disappeared into the bathroom to change rather than staying in the bedroom, Yennefer’s curiosity was further piqued. Satisfied with her own appearance, she sits on the edge of the bed, giddy with anticipation, watching the bathroom door like a hawk. When Tissaia emerges, Yennefer’s expectations are thrown out the window and her jaw hits the carpet. She husks,

“Oh, sweet Jesus! You can’t wear that and expect me to behave.”

Tissaia arches an eyebrow and picks some lint off her sleeve, “Why? Is something the matter?”

“You know damn well what the matter is! You are every gay girl’s daydream brought to life wearing that.”

“Am I indeed? How flattering! You’ll just have to control yourself, my dear.”

Tissaia views herself in the mirror and looks smug. The tux is black with velvety lapels and ornate silver cufflinks, the trousers slim legged with crisp seams. She’s opted for the waistcoat in charcoal grey and onyx buttons but the bowtie had made her feel like a waiter so she’s substituted it for an open collar and her shirt buttons undone to just above the swell of her breasts. The heeled boots are higher than she usually wears but they make her feel powerfully tall and set off the line of the trousers beautifully. She’s put her contact lenses in but pulled her hair into a less-stern version of her work hairstyle, in a chignon knot rather than a bun, and little wisps falling round her face here and there. Yennefer comes up to join her still looking flustered and Tissaia hums,

“You don’t look half-bad yourself, that dress is certainly daydream material.”

Tissaia shifts the chair she sits on to do her make-up, so it is in front of the mirror and instructs Yennefer,

“Sit.”

When she is settled, Tissaia comes up behind her and runs her hands over her shoulders lightly before producing a slim velvet case from her trouser pocket. She snaps it open and hands it to Yennefer,

“For you. To go with this dress.”

Yennefer runs a finger over the string of freshwater pearls reverentially, “They’re beautiful! You shouldn’t have spent all that money.”

“Why shouldn’t I buy pretty things for you, my dear? Now, lift your hair up.”

Tissaia takes the necklace and slides it round Yennefer’s neck, the smooth cool pearls making her shiver a little, and fastens it at her nape. She presses a kiss there before letting Yennefer release her hair again and holds her shoulders almost possessively,

“So beautiful, my gorgeous girl.”

Yennefer smiles and tilts her face up without being told, Tissaia gripping her chin firmly and kissing her, nipping a little at her bottom lip when she pulls away. They gather their coats and leave, reaching the taxi just before the rain starts.

The restaurant is elegant and specialises in seafood, a tank of live lobsters and crabs greeting patrons at the front door. As they wait for their table, they sit at the bar and Tissaia orders two vodka martinis, olives in, stirred not shaken. Yennefer raises an eyebrow and smirks,

“I knew you were a martini girl!”

“Sorry?”

“The night we met in the pub I was expecting you to order wine or a martini, but you went for beer. I knew there was a martini drinker in there somewhere though!”

Tissaia just smiles indulgently then delicately impales her olive and pulls it into her mouth with her teeth making Yennefer’s knees wobble. At the table, they continue with vodka, but this time served ice-cold and neat in shot glasses with the caviar starter they’re sharing. The buckwheat blinis and little mother-of-pearl spoons are finicky, but Yennefer enjoys the delicate bites and deft fingerwork Tissaia displays almost as much as she enjoys the buttery, salty roe. The seafood platter is twice the size of Tissaia’s head but they finish it between them, the discarded mussel, langoustine and scallop shells with wrung-out lemon wedges all that remains on the plate when they indicate they are done. Yennefer groans a little,

“I should have worn a looser dress!”

“I know! My trousers are in danger of pinging a button into that gentleman’s souffle. It’s ok though, all we have to do is waddle across the street to the Opera House and then we can sit for the next two and a half hours.”

Yennefer squawks, “Two and a half hours?!”

“That’s nothing, most operas are three at least, not including the intervals.”

“Well I shall need an ice cream at the interval to keep me on my best behaviour and possibly a puzzle book.”

Tissaia swats her arm as they make their way towards the theatre, “Don’t be such a philistine! You might even enjoy it if you put your prejudice to one side. It’s not all fat ladies and breaking glass, there is no other art form that has the stamina, the robustness to handle such heightened emotion with grace and dignity.”

Yennefer looks dubious but allows herself to be settled in the dress circle and skims the programme to see if she can work out what the hell this is all going to be about. Tissaia appears with more martinis but in plastic pint glasses, eyeing them with distaste,

“We’re not allowed glass in the auditorium, so they gave us these classy receptacles.”

Yennefer teases, “You are such a snob sometimes!”

“Says the woman who won’t drink wine from a screw-top bottle?”

Yennefer’s retort is silenced by the first violin hushing the cacophony of warm-ups that has been going on in the pit and the oboist sending out a reedy ‘A’ for tuning. Applause greets the conductor on her walk to the podium and as the houselights dim, her baton raises and a hush falls over the crowd, Yennefer can’t help the sense of anticipation that has grabbed hold of her. When the baton swoops down and the curtain flies out, she releases the breath she didn’t realise she had been holding. Yennefer’s experience of opera is that one Pavarotti song everyone knows, the Cornetto advert and the ragbag assortment of clichés that revolve around fat ladies, screeching high notes and bad acting. What she is not expecting is the explosion of colour and sound, the sheer volume of that many voices all singing at once, the haunting achingly beautiful note the soprano floats out, the mechanical grandeur of the stage as it moves effortlessly from setting to setting. When the tragedy strikes, as it so often does, Yennefer finds herself crying along, gripping Tissaia’s hand tightly. And despite the outpouring of emotion onstage, the melodramatic lyrics and the complete suspension of disbelief as a mortally wounded human proceeds to sing for ten minutes, Yennefer cannot find it in herself to be snide. It is too raw, too passionate, to be mocked and she is breathless when the curtain falls. She claps just as loudly as anyone else and whispers to Tissaia before the curtain calls begin,

“One word for you…awesome!”

* * * *

When they get home, Yennefer turns her back to Tissaia before they’re even through the hall,

“Unzip me, will you? That ice cream was the straw to break the camel’s back, the seams on this dress are this close to popping open.”

Tissaia takes her hand though and leads her through to the bedroom, not roughly but firm, accepting no arguments. She shuts the bedroom door and turns Yennefer, undoing the zip slowly, her tongue following behind it, trailing down her spine making her shiver. Yennefer goes to pull the dress off but Tissaia smacks her hands away lightly,

“No. You’re going to undress where I can watch you. And then you’re going to let me fuck you.”

Yennefer’s breath hitches but she manages to smirk over her shoulder, “Oh am I now?”

Tissaia winds her hand in her hair and pulls a little, tilting Yennefer’s head back to husk in her ear,

“You once asked how badly you could behave before I decided to punish you. I think it’s time we find out.”

Yennefer releases a shaky breath and bites her lower lip, Tissaia turns her and asks,

“Is that something you would like?”

And even though she says it in a cold, haughty voice, her eyes are soft making it clear to Yennefer she has the option to say no. As if she would! She nods but Tissaia grips her chin forcefully,

“I asked you a question, pet.”

Yennefer smiles to let her know it’s ok to use the endearment, to demand things of her and replies,

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Please.”

Tissaia nods then rewards her with a kiss, teasing and light, flicking her tongue against Yennefer’s lips. When she presses her hips against Yennefer’s, the younger woman’s eyes widen in surprise and she pulls away to gasp,

“Is that a…? Have you had that on the whole evening?”

“Why do you think I’ve kept you at arm’s length? I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Oh, you dark horse! Who knew you had it in you?”

“I asked myself 'what would you enjoy but never request yourself.' Do you like it?”

Yennefer groans at her own words thrown back at her then eyes the subtle bulge in Tissaia’s trousers, the devious smirk on the older woman’s face, and feels her pulse skyrocket. She reaches out to press her palm against it but Tissaia grabs her wrist,

“Ah ah ah, I don’t think you’ve earnt it yet.”

Yennefer whines a little and curses inwardly, she’s already dripping and needy, this is going to be torture if Tissaia keeps her waiting long. Tissaia takes off her tux and hangs it up then arranges the chair so it is at the foot of the bed but a metre or two away from it. She sits and crosses her legs, leaning back and setting her hands on the arms.

“Stand here, where I can see you. It's my turn to watch, I think. Now, take your dress off. Slowly.”

Yennefer slides the shoulders down her arms and turns in a slow circle, the fabric pooling at her waist until she tugs it past her hips and steps out of it.

“Shoes off.” Yennefer goes to rest her foot on the edge of the bed but Tissaia stops her, “Not like that. Turn around and bend down to reach them.”

Yennefer complies, and is gratified when Tissaia does a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her bottom in a thong. Her curves unrestrained by fabric as she bends over to undo the buckles on her shoes.

“Wicked girl. I should have known you’d be wearing that.”

Yennefer grins over her shoulder and does a little wriggle but Tissaia only arches an eyebrow,

“Oh, I’ll wipe that smug grin off your face my girl, you just wait until I get my hands on you. Unclip your bra but leave the thong.” She adjusts herself in the chair and then points at the strewn garments on the floor. “Now, tidy those up.”

Yennefer tilts her head cockily, “Seriously? You’re going to worry about mess right now?”

Tissaia’s eyes flash dangerously, “Did you just disobey me?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows again and stands making Yennefer’s stomach drop. But all she does is retrieve a book from her nightstand and then return to the chair, opening it and starting to read. Yennefer waits for a moment, maybe she will come and hit her with the book, maybe this is meant to lull her into a false sense of security. But nothing happens, Tissaia impervious to Yennefer’s impatient fidgeting. At last, Yennefer huffs and comes over to the chair,

“ _How_ can that book be more interesting than me? You’re pissing me off now!”

Tissaia doesn’t even look up, “Then go to bed. Or get yourself off in the shower. I’m not going to give you anything unless you do as you’re told.”

For a moment, Yennefer sees red, gearing herself up to throw that confounded book out the window and storm off. But then she sees the tremor in Tissaia’s hand that’s holding the book, the nervous lick of her lips as she waits for Yennefer’s response. And she smiles to herself, Tissaia is just as needy as she is, but she’s playing this game. Because Yennefer asked her to. And that makes Yennefer feel all warm and fuzzy. So, she tidies the clothes and shoes away then kneels in front of Tissaia’s chair. The book lowers and Tissaia asks,

“Are you ready to behave?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then lie back on the bed and touch yourself.”

“Where would you like me to touch?”

Tissaia’s eyes flash with approval, “You may touch anywhere but only through your thong, not underneath. And you may not come.”

Yennefer lays back, her bottom on the edge of the bed, her feet still on the floor bracing herself as she starts to skim her hands over herself. She toys with her breasts, traces circles round her belly, palms up her thighs and cups herself. As she grinds against her hand, she shifts trying to relieve the pressure building in her abdomen but it’s too much, so she withdraws from between her legs and plays with her nipples instead. Tissaia purrs,

“Good girl. I thought you might be greedy, but you held back. That deserves a reward, I think.”

Yennefer raises her head, sees Tissaia crooking her finger at her and rolls off the bed, crawling to the chair. Tissaia kisses up her neck and murmurs into her ear,

“Take off my waistcoat. And the shoes.”

As Yennefer undoes the buttons on her waistcoat, Tissaia strokes through her hair cooing,

“So pretty. Such a good girl.”

Her hand comes down to run her fingers over the pearl necklace Yennefer still has on. When Yennefer ducks to remove her shoes, Tissaia rolls up her sleeves to the elbow. Yennefer looks up expectantly and Tissaia sinks a hand into her hair at the back of her head.

“Undo my trousers. And let’s see what might be waiting there for you.”

Yennefer’s fingers eagerly reach for the button and zipper, groaning when the warm length of the strap-on emerges to rest in her palm. She tugs it experimentally and Tissaia hisses, her hips bucking a little. There must be something that presses on her and the thought of her sitting all evening with it rubbing against her makes heat pool in Yennefer’s abdomen. Tissaia moves her thighs further apart and pushes lightly on Yennefer’s head,

“Take me into your mouth.”

Yennefer plucks at the hem of her shirt and lifts it away to giver her better access then looks up at Tissaia as she lowers her head and presses her lips to the tip of the shaft, just enough to peck it. Tissaia cants her hips upward, urging Yennefer to take more. Her cheeks hollow as she swallows and sucks, laving her tongue over its length. The snug harness and the base that nestles between Tissaia’s lips, pressing on her nub, mean she can feel what Yennefer is doing and she starts to pant a little. Yennefer notices and doubles down on her efforts, wrapping her hand round the base and speeding up the bobbing of her mouth. Tissaia groans and rests her head against the chairback, both hands weaving into Yennefer’s hair and guiding her.

“Such a good girl, you’re doing so well, such a pretty mouth.”

Yennefer mewls and Tissaia asks,

“You like that?”

Yennefer lifts off the shaft and licks her lips, catching her breath, looking up at Tissaia adoringly,

“I love you praising me, I love making you feel good.”

Tissaia runs a thumb over her lower lip, Yennefer trapping it between her teeth, and presses a kiss to her forehead,

“Then come up here and sit in my lap.” Yennefer reaches to remove her thong but Tissaia stops her, “No. Leave that on.”

Yennefer straddles Tissaia’s thighs and shuffles up until her core is pressed against the bulge of the strap-on. Tissaia grips her hips and encourages her to rock but it is not enough and Yennefer whimpers in frustration. She sneaks a hand down between them but Tissaia notices,

“Hands on my shoulders. Don’t move them from there, understand?”

“Yes.”

Yennefer anchors herself on Tissaia’s shoulders and grinds down, still not enough but better than nothing. And Tissaia rewards her by leaning in and capturing a nipple with her mouth, sucking and swirling round it. Yennefer’s back arches, her breast filling Tissaia’s mouth further and she moans at the honeyed roundness of it. Her teeth tug, graze over skin, nipping here and there and Yennefer thinks she may come just from the hungry look in Tissaia’s eyes when she looks up at her. She pulls away, the cool air unbearable on Yennefer’s nipples after the heat of her mouth.

“Get up.” She reaches out and drags Yennefer’s thong down her thighs and off her ankles, “Lie on the bed.”

Yennefer scrambles over and lays back, trembling with anticipation. Tissaia shucks off her trousers and unbuttons her shirt but leaves it on then climbs onto the bed. Kneeling back on her heels she tugs at Yennefer’s hips until she’s pressed up against her, her thighs round Tissaia’s waist and her spine sloped back against the mattress. Tissaia reaches a hand between them and guides the strap-on to Yennefer’s folds, gliding through them once or twice before aligning herself with her entrance.

“Ready?”

Yennefer nods frantically, her breath hitching in anticipation. Tissaia hooks her hands round her bottom to keep her in place and instructs softly,

“Look at me. If something is too much, tell me.” Yennefer nods again and Tissaia resumes her authoritative tone, “You do not come until I tell you. If you do, I will punish you.”

Then before Yennefer has a chance to catch her breath, Tissaia thrusts into her, sheathing herself in a single move. Yennefer lets out a silent cry, her hands scrabbling at Tissaia and eyes rolling back in her head. Tissaia gives her a moment to stretch, to relax around her and then sets up a steady pace, nudging and twisting here and there, drawing her hips back almost to the tip of the shaft before sinking back into the hilt. Yennefer is already clenching, a light sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead and gathering in the notch above her collarbones. Tissaia adjusts their position, setting Yennefer’s hips down on the bed and bending her thighs up to her torso, hooking her arms round them to support them.

“Not yet, pet. Control yourself, hold on for me.”

Yennefer pants and grips the pillows above her as Tissaia thrusts harder, her abdomen rippling, hips flexing and bottom clenching with the effort. She bends her head and licks the sweat away from Yennefer’s collarbones, the salt giving way to the sweetness of her skin. She tugs the pearls lightly with her teeth, the string tightening round Yennefer’s throat a little. A hand skims down between them and she presses on Yennefer’s nub whose eyes fly open and she plucks at Tissaia’s hand,

“You can’t touch me there, I’ll finish. Please!”

Tissaia growls, “You will not come until I tell you. And I will touch you where I like.”

She keeps up her strokes and winds her other hand in Yennefer’s hair, tugging it, her thrusts speeding up, hooking up against her wall. Yennefer whimpers and is fluttering around her, biting her lower lip with the effort of holding back. Tissaia whispers hoarsely,

“Hold me, don’t let go.”

Yennefer lowers her hands to grab Tissaia’s bottom framed by the leather straps and squeezes hard, digging her nails in with the frustrated tension. Tissaia groans and starts a frantic sequence of sharp thrusts, smacking the headboard against the wall and eliciting high-pitched short cries from Yennefer and an incoherent stream of curses and pleas,

“Tissaia, please, fuck, I can’t, oh god!”

Tissaia feels herself peaking and pants, “That’s it, my dear, we’re there. Come for me, come with me Yennefer.”

Yennefer sobs and moans long and low in her throat, going rigid before dissolving into seismic tremors, head thrown back and throat taut, pulse hammering under the skin. Tissaia groans and keeps her hips rocking, stroking Yennefer through the contractions even though she is exhausted. When she sees Yennefer’s abdomen tightening again, she renews her efforts and reaches between them to pinch her nub. Yennefer screams, the second orgasm tearing through her and leaving her dazed. Tissaia withdraws carefully and undoes the harness, dropping it somewhere for now, adds her bra and shirt to the pile, then pulls Yennefer into her arms soothing her with gentle circles on her back.

“Are you alright, pet? Was it too much?”

Yennefer opens her eyes with difficulty but smiles, “It was everything, my love. Did I do well?”

“So well, such a good girl. Rest now, I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Yennefer nestles into her neck and murmurs, “I love you.”

Tissaia kisses her forehead and replies, “I love you too. So much, Yennefer.”

And if she has to brush a tear or two away, Tissaia doesn't let it bother her. Some things are worth feeling.


	17. Amaretto (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang head to Calanthe's for Christmas. Calanthe asks Yennefer some hard questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A two-parter with some requested Yennefer-Calanthe scenes and elaborating on Ciri's relationship with Yennefer. Also some Yuletide fluff.

“Can we have some music on?”

Two months ago, Yennefer would never have dreamt of asking before putting music on in a car. But Tissaia enjoys silence and Yennefer has learnt to work around that. It is worth it for the grateful smile Tissaia gives her, the warmth in her eyes that makes Yennefer feel like she’s glowing.

“Of course. Here, my phone should be linked to the Bluetooth, just pick something you fancy.”

Tissaia hands over her phone, keeping her eyes on the road and adjusting her visor as they crest a hill in the road. Yennefer opens the music app and is about to scroll through ‘artists’ when the car’s stereo system automatically blasts out whatever was last playing on Tissaia’s phone. Yennefer jumps and Tissaia swerves a little before hastily muting the speakers and flushing bright red. Yennefer demands incredulously,

“Was that Dolly Parton?”

Tissaia goes even redder and shakes her head vehemently, “No! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yennefer insists, brandishing the mobile, “It _was_! It’s here on your phone, Dolly Parton! Are you a closet country fan? Tissaia, I’m ashamed of you!”

Tissaia protests, “What’s wrong with country music?”

“Nothing! But you can’t listen to Dolly and then deny it when asked, that’s sacrilege!”

Tissaia just huffs and looks sheepish but Yennefer grins and turns the volume up again, dancing in her seat, poking Tissaia until she relents and sings along, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. By the third chorus, they are belting it out and Tissaia has started an adorable head bop.

_Why’d you come in here looking like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl’s dreams. Why’d you come in here looking like that?_

By the time they reach the loch they’ve made it through most of Dolly’s discography and Yennefer is expecting to pull into a driveway soon so switches the music off but Tissaia drives through the village.

“I thought Calanthe lived here?”

“She does, but not in the village. The estate is a little further out. We’ll need to drive through the grounds to reach the house.”

Yennefer does a double-take, “The estate? The grounds?”

“Yes, the estate. Did I not tell you Calanthe is the Lady-Laird here?”

Yennefer splutters, “No! You said, ‘she has a house near here’, you failed to mention the house is a manor or that the back garden is acres of moorland. You must be loaded! Did you grow up with servants? Should I be addressing you as ‘Your Ladyship’?”

Tissaia calms her, “Steady on. We’re not the landed gentry; I grew up in a tenement flat. The title and land belonged to a distant cousin but when he died there were no heirs. Calanthe was the closest living relative and she’s older than me so legally it passed to her. She and Eist were going to hand it over to the National Trust but they decided to make a go of it themselves. They run it with all sorts of environmentally friendly techniques and partner with the local college to train people in land management and forestry and such.”

“It’s like bloody Downton Abbey! So Calanthe is technically a Lady but you’re not?”

“Right. Although if you call me ‘Your Ladyship’ I shan’t complain. Not in public though, that would raise far too many awkward questions.”

Yennefer sniggers and Tissaia shakes her head before turning into a gravel driveway that leads to wrought iron gates, flanked by stone pillars with unicorn statues atop them. Yennefer gulps,

“Shit, so now your older sister who is mad at me is not only terrifying but also has power and money… I’m a dead woman walking, aren’t I?”

“I thought you two were patching things up?”

Yennefer shrugs, “It’s hard to tell over the phone. I guess we’ll find out soon.”

Hundreds of trees, several deer and an agitated pheasant later, they reach another gate and behind it, stands an impressive-looking house. Yennefer does not have time to be intimidated however because as soon as she steps out of the car a blur of ashen hair and skinny limbs pelts towards her screeching joyously,

“Yennefer!”

Yennefer crouches down and holds out her arms, a beaming smile stretching ear-to-ear. Tissaia watches bemused as a child crashes into Yennefer and flings her arms round her neck, Yennefer picking her up and spinning them until she squeals then lowering her to the ground and framing her face in her hands, kissing her cheeks,

“Ciri, my little duckling!”

“I’m too old to be a duckling now!”

“I know, look how you’ve grown! You’re almost up to my chin.”

Ciri nods emphatically and makes Yennefer stand up to demonstrate that this is indeed the case, her ashen hair tickling Yennefer’s throat and chin. Yennefer chuckles and kisses the top of Ciri’s head, her eyes drifting shut as she inhales the warm scent of her hair and wraps her arms tightly around her. Tissaia clears her throat gently and Yennefer snaps out of her daze,

“Ciri, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Tissaia, my…friend.”

Tissaia tries not to stiffen at the adjective but her eyebrows draw together, and her mouth thins into a harsh line. She smooths them away but not before Ciri sees her and cowers against Yennefer. Tissaia sighs inwardly, she’s never been good with children, she either scares them or irritates them. And her displeased face is enough to reduce most adults to gibbering wrecks never mind a child. What had Yennefer expected her to do though? Introducing her as a _friend_?

Yennefer kicks herself. She’d been about to introduce Tissaia as her girlfriend but then realised they’ve never discussed it. And partner sounded too business-like. So, she panicked and went for safe, neutral ‘friend’. Not that Ciri will have any qualms about their relationship, she knows Yennefer is gay, she knows about Geralt and Jaskier. But Yennefer has become so cautious around Tissaia’s identity and her past experiences that she is hesitant to trumpet their relationship status in any situation. And now it has backfired. She pushes Ciri forward gently, silently begging her to fix this with her usual charm and liveliness but even Ciri’s effervescence has been muted by the momentarily stern expression on Tissaia’s face. Tissaia takes a few halting steps forward, smiling awkwardly and thrusting out her hand as though meeting a business associate.

“How do you do, Ciri?”

Ciri shakes it tentatively and mutters, “alright” before scurrying back to Yennefer’s side and blinking at Tissaia anxiously. They are rescued by Geralt and Jaskier appearing in the doorway, closely followed by Eist and Calanthe who hugs Tissaia fiercely,

“You made it. You’re the second lot to arrive. Nenneke is at the train station, Eist is just on his way to collect her. And I believe Triss and Sabrina are close by, their van had to refuel but they texted not long ago so they shouldn’t be too far away.”

Tissaia wraps her arm round Calanthe’s waist and they walk together up the driveway, “Quite the party then. Anyone else coming?”

“Regis of course. And Nenneke is bringing her little nephew Jarre, you met him at Easter last year – skinny chap, round glasses, bookish sort.”

“I’m not sure you’re meant to call someone ‘bookish’ anymore. ‘Studious’ perhaps?”

Calanthe snorts derisively, “I’ll call people what they are and am content for them to call me what I am. No pussyfooting here, thank you. Anyway, he’s joining us.”

“Quite a few kids about this year then. Jarre, Ciri, and then your Cahir and Milva.”

“We’re getting old Tissa, there’s going to be more and more youngsters scampering about.”

They reach the doorway and turn round to check on the others. Geralt and Yennefer are lugging the suitcases while Jaskier offers unsolicited advice on how to carry the luggage and Ciri skips along beside them, nearly tripping Geralt twice by getting under his feet. Tissaia smiles at the scene and Calanthe studies her thoughtfully,

“You’re happy then? Back with your whippersnapper?”

“For the most part, yes.” She elaborates when Calanthe raises an eyebrow, “And the times that aren’t plain sailing in no way make the rest any less wonderful. Go easy on Yennefer, please. She’s not perfect but none of us are.”

As Tissaia says it she realises it is true and she regrets her knee-jerk reaction earlier. So, when the four of them reach the steps and drop the suitcases with a grunt, Tissaia lays her hand across the small of Yennefer’s back and reaches down to take one of the bags,

“Here, let me.”

Yennefer eyes her warily, and mutters under her breath, “I can manage.”

Tissaia presses lightly with her hand, “We can carry them together?”

The tightness around Yennefer’s mouth dissolves and she nods, handing a case to Tissaia, brushing their fingertips together to communicate what cannot be said aloud right now. Tissaia sighs in relief, now all she needs to do is convince Ciri she is not a monster.

* * * *

Yennefer has just found their bedroom and stashed her case when Calanthe appears in the doorway and brusquely invites,

“I’m going for a drive. Come with me.”

Yennefer is not foolhardy enough to refuse. Not that it had been a request anyway. She gulps and considers texting Geralt to send out a rescue party if she’s not back soon. But she pulls herself together, squares her shoulders and follows Calanthe to a garage that looks like a converted stable. They clamber into a mud-streaked Land Rover, Calanthe patting the dashboard affectionately,

“I know it’s a cliché, but they really are the best vehicles for getting around this sort of terrain.”

Calanthe slides into gear and works the pedals with panache, manoeuvring the great hulking car as if it were a sleek Mercedes. Yennefer is impressed,

“Well you certainly know how to handle one.”

Calanthe chastises, “Flatterer!” but she looks pleased with herself and advances towards the uneven, single-track road with grim satisfaction. As they bump along, pausing to allow the occasional deer to cross, Calanthe muses,

“I used to drive an Audi, had a hotshot career in the city, wore Chanel suits. And I gave it all up for rickety Land Rovers, wellies and a sceptic tank that I have a rather hostile relationship with.”

“Why?”

“Because, as old-fashioned as it sounds, I felt I had a duty to this place, the land, the people who work it, the heritage in it. It’s a strange thing being told you’re suddenly responsible for a place like this. It makes you question whether you can commit to it, whether you are ready to take it on with all its foibles and faults. And it is vital to appreciate the significance of what you are doing, it is a lifelong duty, sacrifice is required.”

Yennefer crosses her arms, “Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about owning an estate anymore?”

Calanthe changes gear then replies, “Because I am not subtle, and you are not stupid.”

Yennefer frowns, “And you don’t think I’m ‘appreciating the significance’ of what exactly?”

Calanthe glares, “Don’t play dumb, Yennefer, it does not suit you. You know what I’m worried about. Tissaia does not treat affection lightly.”

“So everyone keeps telling me! What I don’t understand is why people think I do? I am _not_ a flake! Tissaia and I have reconciled, I have committed to her and she trusts that. Why is that not enough for you?”

“Because I have the advantage of not being in love with you and therefore am not as eager to believe what I want to be true.”

“You’re also an interfering busybody!”

Calanthe gives a short bark of laughter then retorts, “And _you_ are impulsive, hot-headed and afraid of looking weak.”

Yennefer flings back, “All of which could be said about _you_.”

Calanthe pulls over and cuts the engine then turns to Yennefer, “Exactly. So, I can imagine, better than most people, what’s going through your head, what you’re likely to find a struggle.”

Yennefer scowls and stares out the windscreen in silence, gritting her teeth against the torrent of insults clamouring to be let out. Calanthe sighs and removes the keys from the ignition,

“Come on, let’s walk.”

She gets out and waits expectantly for Yennefer who follows suit but only because it means she gets to slam the car door. Which she does. Hard. Calanthe doesn’t flinch at the noise even though it sends a cloud of wood-grouse fluttering into the air in a panic. She starts to walk up a footpath and Yennefer stomps after her,

“Did Tissaia put you up to this?”

“No. In fact, she asked me to go easy on you. She would be displeased if she knew I was having this conversation with you.”

This makes Yennefer feel slightly better and the creature in her chest settles down a little. The cool air is helping as well, and the path is steep, so she does not have oxygen to waste on being angry. Calanthe asks,

“Where are the two of you going to live?”

“We’re going to give up the lease on mine. Tissaia wants me to wait until we get my name on hers though. Something about her dying before me… I didn’t want to think about that.”

“No, I don’t imagine you did. It’s worth considering though. I have nothing against the age gap between you, you’re obviously making it work. But what happens when Tissaia is sixty and retires but you’re still working, paying off your debts? Or when you retire and want to head off on a well-earned pleasure cruise but Tissaia is almost eighty and needs round-the-clock care?”

“All of that is twenty, thirty years away, who knows where we’ll be by then. And I’m hardly going to abandon her to go on a cruise, what do you take me for?”

“And children? I’ve watched you with Ciri. You want children and Tissaia does not.”

“We haven’t spoken about it; I don’t know how she feels about-”

Calanthe cuts her off emphatically, “Tissaia does not want children.”

“Why not?”

“The idea does not appeal to her, does there need to be more reason that that?”

“Yes! It’s not white-water rafting or savoury ice cream or whatever other ideas one finds unappealing. It’s raising a _family_ , creating a legacy.”

They reach a break in the trees at the top of the hill, Calanthe leading them out into the open to stand on the edge of the rocky scree that leads down to a small loch.

“There is more than one way to create a legacy. I don’t know the history behind you and Ciri but it’s clear she worships you. And you have found someone to love who loves you in return. Would you give that up for the sake of passing on your genetics?”

“You make it sound so much simpler than it is. And why _should_ it cost all of that?”

“Because if you make it your priority then it will eventually trump anything else. Even Ciri. Even Tissaia. And I can’t allow that.”

“You nearly decapitated me for breaking up with her and now you’re trying to make me leave her again?”

“Don’t be dense!”

Yennefer throws up her hands exasperated, “Then what? What is this heart-to-heart out on the moors about?”

Calanthe is quiet for a moment then turns to Yennefer, her eyes unexpectedly gentle, “I want you to know it’s ok to be scared of it all. And I want you to feel able to come to me if you need someone to talk to. Because I know what it feels like to be us, to be chaotic. And because I have more practice than anyone in dealing with that ten-foot pole up Tissaia’s arse.”

The last thing Yennefer had expected to be doing is laughing but she can’t contain the guffaw that wells up inside her. Calanthe grins and starts to cackle, hands on her hips and wind whipping her hair about her face. Yennefer notices she is beautiful, fierce and dark yes, but beautiful. And, although she is not certain how it has come to this, Yennefer knows she has found a friend. She catches her breath after laughing and says to Calanthe,

“You’re a bloody tyrant, you know that?”

“Someone has to be. And I do it so well.”

They walk back to the Land Rover and Calanthe urges,

“Talk to Tissaia about everything we discussed. I know you’d rather not think about it, that you prefer to live in the moment. But trust me, it will make things easier down the line if you’re clear with each other now.”

Yennefer hates how small her voice sounds when she asks, “And what if we can’t agree on something?”

Calanthe reaches out to lift Yennefer’s chin, eyes boring into her, “Then it is better to know that now. And it gives you the time to find a solution. Because, believe me Yennefer, the two of you together is worth looking after, it’s something special.”

Yennefer nods and Calanthe flashes a devious smile, tossing the keys at her, “Let’s see what you’re made of. If you can steer this baby, then Tissaia will be a doddle.”

Yennefer accepts the challenge unquestioningly and settles into the driver’s seat with determination. Calanthe whoops as she reverses and spins them in one smooth move then rattles down the track, scattering gavel and dust behind them. And although Yennefer enjoys the thrill of it, fuelled by Calanthe’s reckless encouragement to go faster, turn sharper, she finds she misses Tissaia sitting white-knuckled and mildly disapproving next to her. Because the thrill is even better when Tissaia is there to keep her safe and steady, to bring her back down if she is in danger of floating too far away.


	18. Amaretto (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia and Yennefer discuss Ciri.

That afternoon, once everyone has arrived and settled themselves, there are drinks on the terrace. Or that’s what the housekeeper calls it but instead of cocktails or prosecco there’s a huge copper kettle of hot chocolate and a plethora of liqueurs for adding as suits one’s taste. Given the cold, no one is complaining at the lack of iced drinks and everyone eagerly wraps their hands round the hot mugs. It doesn’t take long for them all to settle into the same easy camaraderie that they had discovered at the restaurant that night with the margaritas. Yennefer pours more of the thick, creamy chocolate into her mug then peruses the alcohol options with interest. She has just selected some almond liqueur and poured a generous tot into her mug when Tissaia appears at her elbow, making her jump.

“Are you alright? I didn’t ask her to perform that inquisition, I promise.”

Yennefer smiles at her, “Hush, I know. It’s fine, we reached… an understanding. You and I have some things to talk about, I know you’ve been trying to broach the subject and I’m sorry I’ve been putting you off. But it can wait until tonight, or whenever you want. There’s no rush – I’m not going anywhere.”

Tissaia slips her hand into Yennefer’s, “Neither am I.” They nuzzle noses, the terrace and garden too busy to indulge in a kiss. And then Tissaia pulls her towards the swinging bench where Nenneke is sat with an older gentleman with long fingers, a high forehead and grey temples that make him look distinguished. “Come, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The man stands and smiles, Yennefer likes him almost immediately, something kind and reassuring about him. Tissaia introduces him,

“Yennefer, this is Regis. He’s the doctor who was on duty the night I was attacked, and the one who taught me everything I know about medicine.”

Regis takes Yennefer’s outstretched hand in both of his and shakes it warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges, “A pleasure to meet you, Yennefer. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am that Tissaia has found someone to keep her in order.”

Nenneke snorts, “Oh aye, this one needs constant supervision.”

Tissaia looks indignant and Yennefer smirks, “I get the feeling there’s a story to be told here.”

Tissaia glares at Nenneke and Regis, “No there isn’t. The two of you are trouble-stirrers, you always have been.”

Before Yennefer can dig further though, Eist appears swathed in tangled fairy lights and red in the face with frustration, “Stupid invention, these things! Yennefer, you’re tall, lend us a hand hanging these infernal lights in the marquee?”

Yennefer picks up the trailing end of the lights following Eist and Regis excuses himself, “I’m off to chat to that Geralt fellow, we share a passion for brewing and distilling I gather.”

He strolls away and Nenneke stands, offering the bench to Tissaia, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

“Don’t leave on my account?”

“Not at all. I’m on a mission to coerce Jaskier into singing at the carol service and I’ve just spotted him over there. Will you be at the service?”

“Of course. You know the soft spot I have for your singing.”

Nenneke swats her, “I can’t hold a tune in a bucket, don’t humour me.”

“I’m not. There was a time I was very glad to hear you singing.”

Nenneke smiles then makes a beeline for Jaskier. Tissaia settles herself on the swing bench and wraps a blanket round herself, content to watch the others interacting. Regis and Geralt are engrossed discussing malting and fermenting, Jaskier and Nenneke debating whether _How Far I’ll Go_ is appropriate for a church service. Eist and Yennefer are wrestling with the fairy lights, Calanthe observing them with fondness disguised as disdain. Sabrina and Milva have discovered they share an enthusiasm for archery and are setting up a practice range under the watchful eye of the gillie. Ciri, Jarre and Cahir are all playing somewhere towards the woodland, their shouts echoing across the lawn. Triss walks up and asks,

“Is this the introvert’s bench?”

Tissaia nods and pats the bench next to her, offering Triss half the blanket. They have sat in companionable silence for some moments when a thin wail drifts over from the woods. It is the sound children make when they’ve had a disagreement with gravity. Children scream a certain way when they’ve hurt themselves, Tissaia knows it well. But this is different, it’s the disgruntled cry of dented pride rather than a serious injury. Triss makes to stand but Tissaia stops her,

“It’s alright, I’ll go.”

She makes her way to the edge where the gardens meet the woods, brisk but measured, and spies a crumpled, snotty bundle under a tree next to a freshly broken branch. It’s Ciri and Tissaia hesitates for a moment but her protective streak takes over,

“Ciri? Are you hurt?”

The girl looks up and blinks nervously. Her eyes are wide and an extraordinary green colour, her cheekbones high and freckled, a pointed chin and dark arching eyebrows promising she will be stunning when she is older. Tissaia crouches down in front of her,

“May I see? I’ll be careful.”

Ciri offers out the knee she’s been cradling, swiping at her tears furtively. There’s a nasty graze and a rapidly darkening bruise but nothing is broken and the rest of her has escaped unscathed. Which is a miracle given the height she fell from, Tissaia thinks, looking up at where the branch had snapped off from.

“Where are the others?”

“They went to find pine-cones, but I wanted to climb. They were too scared to try! I’m not scared of anything!”

She juts her chin out defiantly and Tissaia hides a smile. As far as she knows, Ciri is not biologically related to Yennefer but they have the same fierce look when they’re trying to be brave, pretending they’re not afraid or hurting. As she examines Ciri’s knee, Tissaia speaks to distract her,

“The best tree for climbing is down by the water. It has branches big enough you can lie back on them. It’s nearly a hundred years old.”

“Older than you then?”

Tissaia is about to take offense but she catches the twinkle in Ciri’s eye, the tentative smile tugging at her mouth and so shakes her head in mock-solemnity,

“Oh no, I’m much older than that.”

Ciri giggles and Tissaia feels something tug at her chest. As she bends her head over Ciri’s knee to dab at it with her handkerchief she feels Ciri run her finger over her hair. She’s pinned it differently today, plaited and coiled it, little braids sweeping back from her temples to join the bigger one at the back of her head.

“That’s pretty.”

“Thank you. I can show you how to do it if you like?”

“Will you show me the tree too?”

“Of course. I’ll even climb it.”

“You’re too old to climb trees!”

“No, I’m not. I bet I can go higher than you.”

Tissaia raises an eyebrow at Ciri and smiles as the girl scowls in concentration, sizing her up.

“I bet you my pocket money you can’t.”

“Deal.” She holds out her hand and Ciri shakes it then keeps clutching it as Tissaia helps her up. She limps along for a few steps and Tissaia takes pity on her,

“Do you want a ride?”

Ciri nods eagerly and Tissaia crouches down, expecting her to jump on her back but she sits astride Tissaia’s neck, dangling her legs over her shoulders and interlaces her hands underneath Tissaia’s chin before calling out gleefully,

“Ready!”

Tissaia groans inwardly and prays her back does not go into spasm, she is too old for this nonsense. But she has a bet to win so, she wraps her hands firmly round Ciri’s calves then stands, Ciri whooping with delight as they set off towards the gardens. Ciri also shares Yennefer’s penchant for fidgeting but Tissaia cannot find it in herself to berate her. Especially when she sees the look on Yennefer’s face at the two of them together, her smile brighter than the tangle of fairy lights she’s got herself ensnared in.

* * * *

In bed that night, Tissaia is sat up reading with Yennefer’s head in her lap, absentmindedly stroking her hair. Yennefer shifts a little so she can look up at Tissaia under the spine of her book and wriggles her eyebrows at her. Tissaia turns a page and enquires,

“Can I help you? Or are you just being a pain in my backside?”

“Is it true you’re going to climb a tree with Ciri? Should I have Regis on standby for when you come crashing to the ground in a shower of leaves and twigs?”

“What makes you so sure I’m going to fall?”

Yennefer reaches a finger out to tilt the book downwards and Tissaia tuts,

“Tch! What? Spit it out before I smack you with this. And _don’t_ say that’s something you’d enjoy; books are not for hitting people with.”

“Of course, it’s the mistreatment of books you take issue with rather than the kinkiness of smacking me.”

Tissaia sets the book aside and lays her palm against Yennefer’s temple, “Stop making jokes to avoid the question. What’s bothering you?”

“Calanthe said you don’t want children.”

Tissaia sighs, “Oh, did she now? What else did she stick her nose into?”

“Our living arrangements, the age gap between us, my commitment issues, your stubbornness…” Yennefer ticks them off on her fingers nonchalantly but stops when she sees Tissaia is not smiling, “I’m exaggerating. She’s just looking out for you.”

Tissaia rubs her temples, “I’m going to throttle her, I told her to leave you alone.” She takes Yennefer’s hand, weaving their finger together, “She wasn’t wrong though, I have never wanted children… do you?”

Yennefer doesn’t answer directly, instead asking, “Do you remember I told you it was Geralt who got me back on track, who made me wise up after I left the orphanage?” Tissaia nods and Yennefer continues, “To an extent it was him, but it was Ciri that gave me the kick I needed. Before her mother died, she’d made Geralt Ciri’s guardian. They were friends, not in that way though, he isn’t her father. When Geralt brought Ciri to work one day, she latched onto me, followed me around like a puppy. I was barely more than a kid myself, but she thought the sun shone out of me for some unfathomable reason.”

“Give yourself a little credit, my dear. People are drawn to you, and you’re kind. Even if you like to pretend otherwise sometimes. Children are good judges of character, Ciri saw you for who you were not who you had been made into.”

“Are you always this perceptive? How the hell did you know that’s what I was going to say next? That she looked at me and didn’t see any of the shit, just saw me.”

“Because I see the same thing Ciri did.”

Yennefer is dangerously close to crying, so she reaches up to fiddle with Tissaia’s braid that’s hanging over her shoulder, giving her something else to concentrate on.

“It made me decide to get my act together, there was this person, this little person, who looked up to me and needed me to be something more. I’d never been needed before. And I liked how it made me feel.”

Yennefer hesitates but decides it is now or never,

“Don’t you wonder what that would be like? To bring life into the world and raise it, nurture it? To have someone so completely a part of you that you’d never be alone again. Don’t you want that for yourself?”

Tissaia sighs and worries her lower lip with her teeth,

“I have thought about it. And it terrifies me. The thought of shaping someone’s life, of being accountable for their happiness, their wellbeing. There are so many ways it could go wrong, so many mistakes that could be made. And no matter what lies we tell ourselves to sleep at night, you can’t protect the people you love. I cannot guarantee a child’s safety and happiness so how can I justify bringing one into the world?”

Yennefer sits up and crosses her legs, facing Tissaia, “But it could go so right as well. Every relationship risks pain, that doesn’t mean you pass up the chance to experience the good parts.”

“It’s different with adult interactions, both of you are making the choice to take that risk. A child has no say in the matter. I know I’m imagining the worst possible scenarios and, perhaps I wouldn’t screw it all up. But I’m not prepared to bet a human’s life and happiness on it.”

Yennefer hates that she can’t keep the tremor from her voice, “And you wouldn’t change your mind?”

Tissaia reaches out to take Yennefer’s hand again, “I’d try to, if it meant that much to you. But I wouldn’t find it easy, and I’d hate to give you false hope.” She has difficulty getting the next words out, her voice cracking, “Is it a deal-breaker for you?”

Yennefer plucks at the sheet with her other hand, her eyes glued to her knees, “I… I don’t know. I’ve never imagined not having kids.” She feels Tissaia’s hand tremble in hers, “But I can’t imagine losing you either…” She finishes miserably, “It’s all so fucking complicated!”

Tissaia gently lifts her chin until Yennefer is looking at her, “You wouldn’t lose me, pet.”

“But you’re so set against it, one of us would miserable whatever we decide.”

“We don’t have to make a decision tonight. Now that we know what the situation is, we can take some time to think about it, to see where we can compromise.” Tissaia lifts their hands until they’re pressed palm to palm, “Because I’d move mountains to keep you, Yennefer. Whatever else you question, do not doubt that you are what matters most to me.”

Yennefer rests her forehead against Tissaia’s and cups the sides of her neck, Tissaia’s hands curling round her wrists, her thumb subconsciously brushing over her scars tenderly. And, although it is a rare thing for her to be speechless, Yennefer cannot find the words. So, she tries to show Tissaia, to touch her and kiss her until every last word that evades her grasp has been communicated. When they lie back, spent and breathless with feeling, Tissaia draws a trembling Yennefer into her arms, Yennefer trying again but trailing off,

“Tissaia, I…”

Tissaia shifts so she can press her ear over Yennefer’s chest, listening to her heart, “I know. You don’t have to say anything, I can hear you.” 

* * * *

Tissaia is mentally reciting the surgical instruments required for an appendectomy to distract herself from the vertigo. She shouldn’t have looked down. _Babcock’s Tissue Forceps, Backhaus Towel Clamps, Scalpel number…what number is it?_ Ciri heaves herself over a branch and clambers up onto it, then reaches for the next one. Tissaia decides it is time to bow out gracefully, before her rattling knees make the decision for her.

“You win! I’m not going any higher.”

Ciri whoops and shimmies down to join Tissaia on the large branch she has been resting on. They sit for a moment, dangling their legs and catching their breath. From below, Calanthe’s shout echoes up,

“Are you two just going to sit there? Come back down so we can all go inside, it’s freezing!”

Tissaia bellows back, “Do some jumping jacks if you’re cold!”

Ciri giggles then turns to Tissaia, her eyes wide and unassuming, “Are you Yennefer’s girlfriend?”

Tissaia is not certain she is the person who should be telling Ciri about the two of them, so she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“She said you were her friend, but she looks at you the same way she looks at chocolate.”

Tissaia snorts and chuckles, then adjusts her glasses and takes a deep breath, “Yes. We’re together, we’re girlfriends. Is that alright?”

Ciri looks at her as though Tissaia is incredibly thick, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

And she shakes her little head scornfully as though it’s the stupidest thing she’s ever heard that anyone would take issue with two people who loved each other choosing to spend their lives together. Tissaia swallows the lump in her throat,

“Some people used to find it strange, to have two women love each other.”

“Well, I don’t. Especially when one of them is as cool as you.”

And, without any further ado, Ciri flashes her a grin and starts to slide down the trunk, hopping down the branches. Tissaia knuckles the tears blurring her vision, the last thing she needs is to fall because she was crying – that she will never hear the end of. Her descent is uneventful and when she reaches the final branch, she sees Ciri is waiting for her so they can jump down together. They swing off it and land on all fours, Tissaia deciding it is best if she stays on the ground for a moment as her knees are being rather uncooperative. Nenneke grins knowingly,

“I told you you're too old for such shenanigans.”

Tissaia just glares at her and holds out a hand to be helped up. Ciri meanwhile has barrelled towards Yennefer arms outstretched, “I won! Mummy, I won!”

And even though Ciri has never called Yennefer that before, everyone agrees it is exactly how it should be.

* * * *

Tissaia adjusts the leather jacket Yennefer got her for Christmas and tugs at Yennefer’s hand,

“Come on, you won’t burst into flames.”

Yennefer still dithers at the steps to the church for a moment, she has not been inside one since Renfri’s funeral. It does look nice though with all the candles lit and the wreaths of holly and spruce and mistletoe. She takes a deep breath and lets Tissaia lead her through the door to join the others in the pews. Ciri is wrapped in Geralt’s arms, sleepy but determined to make it through the midnight service. From the back of the church a clear, high voice starts to sing and Yennefer spies Cahir in a ruff and suplice, looking green with nerves but sounding heavenly. In keeping with tradition, it is _Once in Royal David’s City_ that the choir enter to and Cahir’s solo gives way to the rich, full sound of the whole choir and the rumbling of the organ. Tissaia’s jaw jumps a little at the memories of the song but she smiles when Yennefer squeezes her hand reassuringly. Nenneke brings up the rear looking resplendent in her Christmas vestments. There are readings, more carols, Nenneke preaches love and hope, and by the time they are standing to sing _Come All Ye Faithful_ Yennefer has forgotten to be cynical. When Jaskier’s gorgeous tenor starts the descant over the top, she thinks her heart might burst it’s all so beautiful. Tissaia leans in to murmur against the shell of her ear,

“Are you alright?”

Yennefer nods, “I’m just happy, so happy.”

Tissaia smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek, “Merry Christmas, Yennefer.”

Yennefer takes her hand and, just like that, she is home. “Merry Christmas, my love.”


	19. Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia goes through a tough time at work, Yennefer helps her through it with a ropework session.  
> Warning: Mentions conflict-zones and associated injuries, contains consensual infliction of pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested, a non-sexualised shibari scene with Tissaia as the model.

Yennefer fans herself and wonders if it would be inappropriate to blow air down her top in the Post Office queue. And then she decides fuck it, it’s the hottest June on record and she has boob sweat. She lifts the neck of her shirt and exhales down it, the cool air making her shiver momentarily. The man in front of her turns at the noise but Yennefer just smiles provocatively and does it again, fluttering the linen fabric so it clings at the curves of her chest before billowing back out. He hastily looks away and Yennefer grins in wicked enjoyment. It would be fair to say her worst instincts are grabbing the opportunity to exercise themselves in Tissaia’s absence. That doesn’t mean Yennefer isn’t missing her though. She’s missing her terribly, in fact. In her last letter to Tissaia, she’d ended up waxing lyrical about her pillows not smelling of her anymore and how she wished Tissaia had been there to scold when she’d worn odd socks the other day. When Yennefer reaches the counter, the postmistress looks disgruntled at having to stand to retrieve the pile of correspondence and withdraws a letter, sliding it to Yennefer under the plexiglass divider. Yennefer scrawls her signature to confirm it has been delivered then pounces on the tattered envelope and hurries out towards the nearest park to sit and read. It is crumpled and travel-stained, airmail stickers and numerous stamps covering it. She holds it up to her nose and inhales like she always does. It’s probably her imagination but she thinks the thin, grainy paper smells of dust and sunshine and mangoes. Tissaia is always apologetic that it’s such flimsy cheap stationery but Yennefer doesn’t mind. When she opens the envelope, she does a double-take and sniffs again. It smells like Tissaia. She unfolds the sheet torn off a _Medecins Sans Frontieres_ prescription pad and starts to read.

_My darling Yennefer,_

_I’m not sure if it will last the journey but I’ve sprayed some perfume (the last of my bottle in fact so don’t say I never give you anything!) onto the paper seeing as you can’t sniff the pillows any longer. And I shan’t waste paper and ink voicing my thoughts on your odd socks – I’m sure you can imagine what they would be. It’s been unbelievably hot here and I’ve turned an alarming shade of pink. Most of the other doctors and volunteers have lovely tans but muggins here just looks like a beetroot. As I write, one of the younger medics is shaking his head pitifully at me. I think he assumes I don’t know how to use Skype or a mobile phone rather than realising we’re writing letters because it is hopelessly romantic._

_We had a shipment of vaccines arrive today so will be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to get the entire camp inoculated by sundown. If we manage it though I reckon we’ll get through the latest outbreak relatively unscathed and that can only make things easier. There’s been so many IED and torture victims that we’re run off our feet so cholera sweeping through will finish us if we’re not careful… but it’s not all doom and gloom. I have some promising local doctors working with me and they’ll be excellent hands to leave it all in when we come back home. One of them seems to have taken a shine to me and I’m trying to break it to him gently that I’m already spoken for. Of course, I’m having to refer to you as ‘John’ rather than risk being arrested for promoting ‘indecent and unnatural conduct’ but it seems a small grievance to bear when there is so much suffering around me._

_I miss you. Miss you so much it hurts. The photo you sent of you and Ciri eating ice cream is pinned above my bunk and (you’ll laugh at me for being a sentimental old fool) I kiss it before I go to sleep each night. I was going to send you pictures of the hospital and where we are, but we’re not allowed to disclose our exact location apparently. I’ve put in one of me that the press photographer took though. I think I look ridiculous but at least you can see I’m in one piece. I’ll be home soon, another month and then I’ll be back and, oh I’m going to kiss you, hold you, touch you, taste you… It’s just as well I’m so sunburnt – no one can tell how much I’m blushing writing this. My break is almost over so I’d better finish this. I love you, love you, love you. Write soon (or videocall, because I DO know how to use a fucking phone because I am NOT a dinosaur ugh!)_

_Yours always, Tissaia_

Yennefer reads it over and over and then inspects the photograph. It’s black and white but well-lit and Yennefer feels her stomach flip-flop at how beautiful Tissaia looks. Granted, she has a grim expression on her face and her hair is sticking to her damp forehead, her scrubs baggy and faded. But she’s got her stethoscope pressed against a criminally skinny back that is criss-crossed with recent flogging injuries, her other hand cradling the person’s head and Yennefer knows that look in her eyes. The one that says ‘I am going to fix this if it’s the last thing I do. And then I’m going to find who is responsible and make them pay.’ She looks fierce, compassionate, clever, brave and it makes Yennefer’s throat constrict. She’d been uncertain about Tissaia going. It wasn’t her first trip; Tissaia had been volunteering with MSF for years, but it was the first Yennefer had heard of it. And the first time Tissaia had been leaving someone behind. But they’d agreed in the end that she should go.

Yennefer tucks the letter and photo into her bag and is standing to leave when her phone rings. Glancing at the screen she sees it’s Calanthe and answers,

“Hello?”

“Yennefer, where are you?”

“In a park. Why?”

Calanthe’s voice is oddly strained, “Have you heard from Tissaia?”

“She texted two nights ago, and I just picked up a letter. What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

“She hadn’t updated her emergency contact info, so they called me instead of you. The hospital has been attacked. They’re holding the foreign nationals hostage.”

Yennefer sinks back onto the bench, grasping at straws, “But they’re neutral, medics are meant to have immunity, they can’t have been attacked! Is she alright? When can they get her out? What do we do? I am going to murder someone if they hurt her!”

“Yennefer, slow down. What park are you in? We’re coming to get you and then we’ll go get some answers.”

Yennefer does not have clear memories of Eist and Calanthe picking her up or of the drive to the regional headquarters. She knows Calanthe almost got thrown out by security for jabbing her finger into their liaison officer’s chest repeatedly as she demanded he send in the Air Force if necessary. She knows the phrase ‘no deaths confirmed yet’ was used. And she remembers (she will never forget) when the clip appeared on Youtube showing three of the doctors being shot in the head execution style one after the other. But the flashes of recall are all disjointed and blurry with no sense of linear progression. The first clear memory she has, not shrouded in the fog of panic and disbelief, is waiting at the airport to meet Tissaia five days later. Yennefer’s knees buckle when she sees her through the arrivals gate. Until now she had not fully believed Tissaia was safe, that someone wasn’t going to regretfully inform her Tissaia had joined the list of casualties. She lets Calanthe and Eist and Nenneke hug Tissaia first because once Yennefer has her in her arms, she is never letting go. She is thinner than Yennefer remembers, her face drawn, and the pink of her sunburn has faded leaving her pale with dark circles under her eyes. But it is the dull emptiness in her eyes that frightens Yennefer most, they look flat and lifeless. And although she clings to Yennefer when she embraces her, her body remains stiff and rigid, not melting against her like she usually does.

* * * *

It is the same story over the next day or two as they try to return to normal, to where they were before all this. Tissaia lets Yennefer hold her but she does not relax into it, does not engage. Yennefer considers not touching her to see if that is more comfortable but Tissaia demands it, pulling her arms round her, grabbing Yennefer’s hands so tightly she gets pins and needles. The silence is overpowering, their conversations monosyllabic and mundane. Tissaia becomes more and more withdrawn, her shoulders hunching and fingers fidgeting. Yennefer wants to offer to tie her, to ask if it will help but she cannot. It is one of their rules. They have explored _shibari_ together in the seven months or so since Yennefer first found Tissaia at the studio, Yennefer becoming quite proficient and they now both switch between rigging and modelling depending on their needs. But it is a strict process, full of ritual and rules. They draw clear lines between their _shibari_ sessions and using rope during sex, one is for fun the other is a serious affair. They never have a session at home, always at the studio. They use different ropes, the soft cotton ones are for playing, the rougher hemp ones for sessions. And the first rule Tissaia had insisted on; it is always the person who wants to be the model that asks for the session. Yennefer will never forget the first time she asked Tissaia to tie her. She’d been shaking with the thought of being at someone else’s mercy but Tissaia had handed her a bundle of rope then knelt in front of her waiting patiently. 

“The rigger has control, but it is given by the model. Never taken. When you are ready, and only then, hand me the rope and I will accept the gift of your trust. You may take as long as you need. And you may ask to be released at any time.”

And so, even though she is certain a session would help, Yennefer stops herself from suggesting it. Because it is pointless if it’s not begun with that trust, that offering of oneself. It takes three days but eventually, Tissaia appears in the doorway and says more words strung together than Yennefer has heard her use since the airport,

“I’m going to the studio. Would you come with me?”

Yennefer nods, “Of course. Just let me pack the ropes and some clothes, do you have yours?”

Tissaia indicates the bag slung over her shoulder, “Yes. I’ve booked us one of the small spaces.”

Yennefer nods again to show she understands. The smaller studios are for private sessions rather than the open-door space in the main bar. Sometimes they do demonstrations or classes there, sometimes one of them wants to be watched. But the small sound-proofed rooms are where they go for intense, cathartic, deeply personal sessions. The last time they’d been in one was when Yennefer had been told she could not conceive or carry children. She had fought so hard against the ropes that day she’d almost dislocated a shoulder. And afterwards, when she’d finally surrendered and then been released, Tissaia cradled her in her arms and they grieved together. Yennefer shakes herself from the memories, today is not about her. She holds out her hand and Tissaia takes it, allowing herself to be led to the car. Yennefer keeps their hands touching as much as possible through the drive, resting hers on Tissaia’s atop the gearstick. It is another of their rituals to maintain some form of contact once they have agreed to a session. At the studio they only nod to Giltine at the bar. He knows they’re not being rude and won’t take offense if they don’t stay to chat afterwards depending on how things go. Sometimes it’s nice to relax afterwards and have a drink with him, sometimes the only thing either of them wants is to fall into bed holding one another. Yennefer leads Tissaia by the hand up the stairs to the second floor with the smaller studios, into one of them and shuts the door on the outside world, locking it.

Tissaia prefers not to talk when she is modelling but they both know their parts well-enough so there is no need to confer. Tissaia changes into soft leggings and a vest top in a corner, braids her hair, coils it and puts in her contacts. Then does some stretches before kneeling with her eyes closed and concentrating on her breathing. Yennefer also changes into some harem pants and a t-shirt, tying her hair up into a ponytail, then sorts through the ropes, arranging them in piles. She lays out some smaller rope lengths and some wide strips of cotton too, retrieves one of the thin bamboo poles in the corner and checks it for splinters, ties a lengthening loop onto the main beam that runs the width of the room, fills the bucket from the sink behind a screen and sets some cloths in it to soak. Tissaia prefers the dim glow of the standing lamp rather than the glare of the studio lights but it can get chilly without the halogen bulbs burning so Yennefer turns up the radiator a little. When she has finished preparing everything, she washes her hands carefully and files her nails until she is certain there are no jagged bits. Then she kneels opposite Tissaia, a single rope bundle on the floor between them. She waits until Tissaia has opened her eyes and then asks,

“Is there anything I should know?”

They always check if there’s anything off-limits or something particularly wanted.

“I’ve strained this shoulder, so I’d rather not have my hands above my head.”

Yennefer nods and tries not to think about how Tissaia may have been injured, they haven’t yet discussed what exactly took place in the hospital siege. Tissaia locks eyes with her,

“And I want pain.”

Yennefer nods again. It had taken a while for her to accept causing Tissaia pain. But Tissaia had told her to think of it as straightening a bone, a moment of pain to prevent long-term damage and constant aching. And that had helped. And there is something heartening in being trusted to inflict the right amount of pain. So, if Tissaia needs to hurt to heal, then Yennefer is going to do what she can to help her.

“When you are ready.”

Tissaia lifts the rope and holds it out, “I love you.”

Yennefer pauses, this is new, they don’t usually say anything once the rope is handed over and they wait until the end to say things like that. But it is not a bad thing to remind each other of before the pain and powerplay starts. So, she echoes,

“I love you” then takes the rope and they begin.

Yennefer kneels behind Tissaia and places her hands on her shoulders, holding her for a few moments, breathing together. Runs her hands down her arms and lays her palms atop the backs of Tissaia’s hands, interlocking their fingers. She pulls so Tissaia’s arms are either side of her body, bent at the elbows, hands level with her shoulders, palms facing upwards. As though she were Atlas balancing the globe on his shoulders. This will be the start of a tengu harness, easier on the shoulders than a strappado or bunny-tie but more open and vulnerable than crossed-arms or hands-free. Undoing the first rope, Yennefer finds the bite and trails it lightly down Tissaia’s arm, watching the downy hair stand on end and her skin pebble. She loops the bite round her tricep, pulling the tail through to wrap into a single-column then takes it across her back to cuff round the other tricep, locking it off with a friction. The tail goes back through the first cuff and as Yennefer pulls on it, Tissaia’s elbows are squeezed towards one another, her shoulder blades curving up and out under the skin. She gives a hum of discomfort as Yennefer tightens but exhales slowly and relaxes into the unusual position. Yennefer does a half-hitch in the middle of her back to start the stem then comes her favourite bit. She needs to wrap the tail across Tissaia’s chest and it means she can encircle her with her arms, pressing Tissaia back against her, passing the rope from one hand the other, her breath ghosting over her pale neck as she pulls against the rise and fall of Tissaia’s lungs. It’s possessive and protective all at once and Yennefer loves the small intake of breath it always elicits from Tissaia when the rope bites across her chest. She is careful the rope sits above any breast tissue and that the wraps are flat against the skin. Twice round her chest and Yennefer links it all together at the back again. Her rope runs out, so she attaches a new one with a lark’s head, looping the new bite round the old tail. Two more chest wraps but under the breasts this time, cinching on the ribcage and then a vertical line down her sternum linking the bottom and top wraps. Yennefer tightens the harness and adjust Tissaia’s breasts, so they are not pinched.

A gentle flush has started to creep up Tissaia’s chest towards her neck and her eyebrows are knitted together, her breathing working hard against the binding round her lungs and ribs. Yennefer lays her palm on her diaphragm and waits for a moment, feeling Tissaia push against it as she inhales. They have little gestures like this that serve as communication rather than speaking. _Can you breathe? Is it too tight?_ And the answering reassurance, _I’m fine, this is good._ It had amazed Yennefer how attuned and connected they could become in these sessions. Not simply communicating with no words but _feeling_ one another’s thoughts, sensing what else might be needed, sharing in the rawness of it all. When Tissaia ties, she looks at her with such intensity that Yennefer is certain she can read her mind, can see into her soul. She tries to replicate it when she is the rigger but can never sustain it, it still always feels like it is Tissaia searching her. Yennefer pulls the tail back round to the stem and threads up through it until she can go diagonally over Tissaia’s shoulder and down to catch at the top chest wrap. Then back over the other shoulder to form a v-shaped collar, carefully locked so it cannot slip up and choke. A new rope attached to the stem wraps round her wrist and up across her flat palm, sitting in between her thumb and forefinger, drawing her hands backwards towards her forearms. Yennefer repeats this on the other hand then locks everything off, taking satisfaction in the neat finish and the sturdy stem she has built to suspend from later. She tugs on the harness a little to remind Tissaia she is now immobilised above the waist, unable to put out her hands to break her fall as she feels herself tilting backwards. But Yennefer is there to catch her, to support her as she fights the opposing forces of gravity, the ropes binding her and her instincts. She shuts her eyes against the struggle and goes floppy, allowing Yennefer to manipulate her, trusting her to maintain her balance for her. This was another skill Yennefer had taken time to learn; letting your rigger arrange you rather than trying to guess where they wanted you and moving your limbs for them. Waiting for guidance and commands rather than pre-empting and maintaining a semblance of being in control.

Yennefer eases Tissaia back up to a kneeling position, steadying her until she has her balance again then stands to retrieve the bamboo pole. She holds it out in her palms, another question. _Are you ready for this?_ And Tissaia raises herself so she’s kneeling but not resting back on her heels, her thighs vertical. _Yes._ Yennefer adjusts Tissaia’s feet, so her calves are parallel and widens her knees a little then tucks the bamboo in at the back of them, right in the bend between calf and thigh. Tissaia shivers a little in anticipation and Yennefer holds her shoulders firmly before guiding her back to rest her bottom on her heels and then all the way down so she is laying on the floor, her back arching and her thighs taut, legs folded up underneath her still. Tissaia whimpers and sweat beads on her forehead. There are numerous pressure points along the back of a calf that are compressed by the bamboo when weight is put on it. Yennefer has only tried it once as an experiment and howled almost immediately she had sat back on her heels, not even making it to the floor. It had been excruciating and she can’t help being a little awed at Tissaia’s fortitude. She stands and prepares some suspension lines, leaving Tissaia to suffer alone for some minutes. This is always the hardest part, stepping away to give her the space, to create the insecurity required for her to fall apart, to let go of that legendary self-control. Yennefer still hasn’t heard the louder cries or the ragged hitch in her breathing that indicates Tissaia is close to her limit so she takes another rope and binds her calves to her thighs, tightening the grip on the bamboo and the intensity of the pressure. Tissaia’s mouth falls open in a cry and she twitches, hands scrabbling to push herself up but restrained by the harness. Her whimpers become desperate, a frown etched into her forehead, her back arching higher in an effort to relieve the pressure. Yennefer kneels behind her head and leans on her hips to push them down again then traces with a forefinger between her eyebrows smoothing the frown away. Tissaia is gasping, crying out in earnest now with shudders coursing through her, she will not last much longer. Yennefer fastens a suspension line to the front of the harness and pulls until there is no slack left, but she does not raise Tissaia, not yet, not until… there, that. Tissaia’s head arches back and a ragged cry escapes her. Yennefer pulls and Tissaia’s torso lifts off the ground, easing the pressure on her calves. Yennefer crouches down and cradles Tissaia’s head in her palm, partly so her neck isn’t strained but also to comfort her. Tissaia’s eyes are shut but Yennefer wants to see her, so she rests their foreheads together. _Open your eyes, look at me._ It takes a moment but Tissaia obeys and locks her gaze with Yennefer’s. And, to her relief, Yennefer sees the horrible dullness that has clouded them is gone. They are a little glazed with endorphins, but they are bright, Tissaia’s essence behind them once more. Her forehead is sweaty against Yennefer’s, but the deep lines of worry and regret have eased. Yennefer hovers her fingers over a knot, _Enough or more?_ Tissaia shuts her eyes, _more._

Yennefer adds a line to the back of the harness so she can pull her into a vertical suspension, her folded knees just above the floor. Then adds another to the bamboo and pulls so her legs are drawn up behind her and she is horizontal, facing the ground but with the chest line to rest her forehead against rather than her head hanging down. She is about to wind one of the cotton strips round her eyes as a blindfold but Tissaia shakes her head and Yennefer puts it away. She sits on the ground in front of Tissaia, looking up at her and God, she is beautiful. It looks like she is doing a yoga bow pose but in mid-air, the tengu harness making her arms look like folded back wings, the line of her limbs flowing through and the rope making criss-crosses, diamonds, twists across her skin. And she looks strong, balanced, bound but unburdened. They stay in silence and stillness for some moments until Tissaia lifts her head and opens her eyes. _Enough._

Lowered to the floor and each knot undone individually, Tissaia shivers a little with the adrenaline and the feeling returning to her limbs. Yennefer trails the ends of the ropes gently over her skin whenever she undoes a knot, runs her palms over the places that were bound to check the temperature of her skin and to sooth the red indentations. When the ropes are clear, Yennefer strips Tissaia of her sweaty clothes, undressing her tenderly. With the cloths that have been cooling in the bucket she washes her, wiping the sweat and misery away. Then fetches the large, soft blanket at the bottom of her bag and wraps Tissaia up in it, pulling her into her arms, her head cradled against Yennefer’s chest and her back leant against her thighs. Yennefer had thought Tissaia might cry but she looks up and smiles,

“Undo your hair for me.”

Yennefer pulls her ponytail free and her black curls cascade over her shoulder, Tissaia snakes an arm out of the blanket and runs a tendril through her fingers.

“I imagined this, the smell of your hair, the way it feels in my fingers. Every time I watched another patient die because they wouldn’t let us treat them. Every time they came in to choose the next person they were going to shoot.”

Yennefer clutches her tighter and Tissaia moves her hand up to cup her cheek, “Because they weren’t going to take you from me, no one gets to make me forget this, us.”

She tugs Yennefer down so she can kiss her and Yennefer mumurs against her lips, "No one, ever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The material in this chapter has been thoroughly researched but should not be taken as instructions or guidance on how to practice shibari or tie the knots mentioned. See end of chapter 14 for a detailed explanation of shibari and links to rope safety information. 
> 
> Medecins sans Frontieres is just one of many humanitarian organsiations working in conflict zones round the world. Traditionally, individuals working for these organisations were treated as neutral and given immunity but attacks specifically aimed at them have become more widespread in recent years. For more information www.msf.org


	20. Champagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tissaia and Yennefer celebrate a myriad of little moments that make them glad to be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a huge thank you to all of you who have commented, left kudos, laughed and cried along with this story. Not only for your encouragement and kind feedback but for sharing your passion for these wonderful characters, in this world and all the others. Without readers, fanfiction is just words on a screen so thank you!  
> I have recently ventured onto Tumblr so feel free to come say hi or drop me some requests. For now though, I leave you in the company of these two ladies and the gorgeous complexity that is their relationship.

There are times Tissaia loves this city. And long summer evenings when the elongated shadows start to slant and the breeze is warm, is one of those times. She had returned to work this week and is more than a little proud of herself for managing without breaking down. It had been a close call when the exhaust on an ambulance backfired and she almost ducked for cover thinking it was a gunshot. She still wakes up sweating and trembling some nights. But she _is_ healing, she doesn’t feel guilty now when she laughs, she doesn’t have to triple check the locks before bed now. A wriggle beneath her hands draws her back to the present and she huffs,

“Ciri, sit still or I’ll end up sticking you with a pin.”

Tissaia bites her lower lip to supress a chuckle when Ciri starts to nod only to realise it counts as moving and jerks to a sudden halt mid-nod. They’re sitting in the garden, Tissaia pinning Ciri’s hair the way she likes with the little braids and coiled plait. Tissaia had reasoned,

“You do know we’ll just have to take it out when it’s bath time?”

But Ciri had been adamant so Tissaia had fetched the brush and pins. She worries sometimes that they’re spoiling Ciri between herself, Yennefer, Geralt and Jaskier. But it’s only during the holidays and the ballet school is incredibly disciplined, so perhaps it’s a good balance to be fussed over when she’s home. As she finishes the main coil, Tissaia reaches for the strands at her temples to braid and sees the daisy chain in Ciri’s lap.

“That’s long! Did you find all those in the lawn?”

“Yup.” Ciri tries to sound nonchalant, “I’ve picked all the ones I can reach…”

She trails off and Tissaia shakes her head in fond exasperation, “Right, move now then, before I start this next bit.”

Ciri shuffles forward on her bottom until she is within grabbing distance of a fresh patch of daisies. Then starts to add them to her chain while Tissaia resumes working on her hair. It’s silky like Yennefer’s but poker-straight and such a pale blonde colour the strands are almost translucent. It smells like gingerbread and rosin Tissaia thinks, but perhaps it’s her imagination. Ciri pokes her tongue out in concentration as she slits the stem of a daisy with a thumbnail and links it to the chain,

“Mummy said you were away helping people the last time I was on holidays.”

“Yes. I was sorry to miss you. I saw the photo of you with ice cream though, I kept it with me while I was away.”

“I’ve got a photo of you too.”

“Oh yes?”

“Mummy took it when you were sleeping, she drew a moustache on you and big eyebrows.”

Tissaia scowls, “Well, Mummy is going to wake up one day wearing rabbit ears and whiskers if she’s not careful.”

Ciri giggles then asks, “Did you have a nice time when you were away?”

“I was very glad to come home.”

Tissaia knows she’s sidestepped the question, but her answer seems to satisfy Ciri. Perhaps when she’s older they will talk about what happened but for now, some dreams are best left unshattered, some nightmares not worth bringing into the light. Her phone rings and Tissaia answers it with a hairpin clenched in her teeth,

“Hello?”

Yennefer purrs, “ _You are so damn se_ -“

“Ciri is here and you’re on speaker!” Tissaia interjects before Yennefer can finish whatever she was going to say.

“ _I was only going to say how… sensible you are._ ”

“Nice recovery, smooth, seamless really.” Yennefer makes a disgruntled noise and Tissaia smirks, “You’re complimenting me so you either want something or think you’re in trouble. Which is it?”

“ _My bike got a flat-tyre. I’ll need to get the bus which means I’ll be home late. I’m sorry, I know you’ve got an early start tomorrow, but can you do bath and bedtime?”_

“I’ll do you one better, we’ll come pick you up. I don’t want you walking on your own at that time of night.”

“ _You’re an angel._ ”

“Just remember that when I wake you getting out of bed at half-six tomorrow morning. Will quarter past ten give you enough time after service ends?”

“ _Absolutely.”_

Tissaia finishes Ciri’s hair and instructs, “Off you go and stretch your legs after all that sitting still. Dinner in an hour and then I want you in your PJs before we go to the restaurant.”

She plants a kiss on top of Ciri’s head before she scampers away, shouting over her shoulder, “Love you!”

Tissaia cannot help the little noise that escapes her and Yennefer’s voice echoes up from the phone,

“ _Are you alright?_ ”

“Yes, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“ _Never forget it. Ciri loves you, I love you. You are loved, Tissaia.”_

Tissaia tries to swallow the lump that has lodged in her throat. Oh yes, she is very glad she found her way home, here to this.

* * * *

Yennefer shivers and dips a toe into the water,

“Shit it’s freezing!”

Tissaia is already twisting and gliding through the water like some sort of eel, “You’re the one who wanted to practice in the outdoor pool.”

“I hate the indoor one, it’s hot and smells of bleach.”

Yennefer is just working up the nerve to dip her whole foot in when a splash arcs towards her and soaks her making her shriek,

“You little—ugh, I am going to get you for that!”

She minces down the steps, cursing when the water reaches above her thighs, chilling her to her centre. Tissaia is deliberately treading water just past the shallow end so that Yennefer is forced to swim rather than wade. Her doggy paddle is neither elegant nor efficient, but it does the job. Tissaia grins and ducks below the surface, dolphin-kicking further away and Yennefer tries to chase her but can’t keep up. She’s already tired and it still makes her nervous being this far into the deep end. Tissaia’s head pops up beside her, sleek like an otter’s,

“Are you alright?”

Yennefer scowls and does a feeble paddle succeeding only in getting water stuck up her nose and spluttering. Tissaia reaches out and grips her forearms,

“Come on, just float and I’ll do the rest. I shouldn’t have made you come out this far, I’m sorry.”

Yennefer lets herself be pulled along, Tissaia swimming the two of them to the shallow end. She must still be feeling guilty because she pulls Yennefer back gently until she’s floating, her head cradled against Tissaia’s chest and strong arms under her back keeping her steady. Yennefer will never enjoy swimming or be particularly good at it but it’s worth it for these moments when Tissaia floats her, letting her drift in her arms for ages. She has just shut her eyes against the hot, bright blue of the sky when she hears Tissaia murmur,

“You’re always so beautiful like this.”

Yennefer smiles, her eyes still closed, “I bet you say that to every girl who has her head in your cleavage.”

Tissaia makes a chastising noise but keeps her arms steady, her hands gentle, “I mean it. I love having you in my arms, watching you watch the clouds, the way your hair drifts in the water, feeling you relax completely into my hands.”

Yennefer opens her eyes to find Tissaia staring at her with such love and affection it takes her breath away. That night, as they make love, Tissaia presses herself up against Yennefer’s back, her hands skimming round to dip between her legs, arms encircling her and Yennefer’s head tipping back against her shoulder. Yennefer’s hands fist in the sheets and clutch at Tissaia as she sobs with pleasure, at how safe and cherished she feels in Tissaia’s arms even as she is laid bare and open. And while she is still not certain how she came to be this lucky, Yennefer is very glad she found her way here to this.

* * * *

Tissaia stands for a moment to catch her breath, hands on her hips and staring out over the valley below them and the loch in the distance. This will be one of the last warm days of the year, she reckons. The nights are lengthening, the evenings chilly, the leaves will be turning soon. They have paused to let Yennefer tie her shoelace and Tissaia eases the backpack on her shoulders as she waits. Some minutes later there is still no indication that Yennefer has finished so Tissaia turns round teasing,

“You _can_ tie your own shoes, can’t you?”

And then she is lost for words, making a ridiculous noise, something between a squeak and a gasp. Because Yennefer is still kneeling, but her hands are holding a little velvet box rather than fumbling with shoelaces. The younger woman chuckles,

“I thought you were never going to turn around!”

She opens the box and Tissaia sighs,

“Oh, Yennefer, it’s beautiful!”

“It’s yours. I am yours. If you’ll have me?”

Tissaia swipes at her cheeks because at some point she has started crying without realising it, and insists, “Ask me properly!”

Yennefer grins and rolls her eyes in mock-exasperation before taking a deep breath and asking, “Tissaia de Vries, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Tissaia half-smiles, half-sobs and pulls Yennefer up to kiss her, breaking away to reply, “Yes, a thousand times yes!”

Yennefer punches the air and scoops her up, spinning them until they’re dizzy. Which in hindsight was a mistake because they’re both too woozy to get the ring onto Tissaia’s finger and end up laughing, clutching their sides and gasping for air. When the ground stops shifting under her feet and she has caught her breath, Tissaia recomposes herself and holds out her hand. The ring fits perfectly, and is beautifully simple, nothing gaudy or flashy.

“I love it, thank you.”

Yennefer looks pleased with herself (also more than a little relieved) and kisses her hand. Tissaia strokes through her hair,

“I need to get one for you now.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to, because we’re doing this together, Yennefer.”

Yennefer smiles and rests her forehead against Tissaia’s, “Together.”

* * * *

Yennefer runs her thumb round her engagement ring, still not used to feeling it on her ring finger. Not that is it is an unpleasant sensation, just new. She is not certain it’s called a hen party when there’s two brides and half the guests are men but who needs labels anyway? The whole gang are gathered in The Wolf and Swallow for dinner and to toast the upcoming wedding. Tissaia had gallantly offered to tag along on a pub crawl or a club night or whatever Yennefer fancied but the truth is Yennefer didn’t want any of that. Not anymore. She still enjoys being in a crowd and is more than happy to go clubbing whenever Tissaia pulls out her lace-up boots and gets that hungry look in her eyes. But tonight, all she wanted was their friends, some good food and a comfy seat. Which doesn’t mean she won’t be pushing the furniture back later tonight and dancing with Jaskier to the Spice Girls once they’ve both consumed enough champagne. Nenneke, Regis and Coral arrive, bringing a gust of cold air with them as they come through the door. Eist and Calanthe are already here as is Sabrina, the restaurant trio and (to Yennefer’s chagrin) Philippa. Tissaia had insisted they invite her, and Yennefer has resolved to at least try and get on with the woman for Tissaia’s sake. Philippa is not currently doing herself any favours however,

“Such a quaint little place this, very _rustic_.”

“We were keen to avoid the pitfalls of looking bourgeoisie or swanky. Good food doesn’t have to come wrapped in faux-leather and chrome-surfaces.”

Philippa ignores her and ploughs on with her next insult, “So, tell me darling, who’s walking you down the aisle? Such a pity I always think for someone like you, an _orphan_ with no one to give you away.”

Yennefer is saved from causing a scene by a calming hand on her shoulder and Tissaia appearing at her side from seemingly nowhere, “Why on earth does she need someone to give her away? She’s not the blue ribbon for best pumpkin at a country fair. She’s an independent woman who is making the choice to commit to someone not property being passed from one man to another. Honestly, Pippa, you’re terribly old-fashioned sometimes.”

Yennefer resists the urge to stick her tongue out at Philippa as Tissaia goes to the door to greet someone who has just arrived. Philippa sighs, looking oddly sincere,

“Don’t let that one go, Yennefer. I did. And it was a mistake.”

Yennefer looks at Philippa with new eyes, and surprises herself when she passes a glass of champagne to the woman and raises one of her own,

“No more mistakes, then.”

Philippa nods and lifts her glass, “No more mistakes.”

Yennefer sees Tissaia beckoning her over and excuses herself having somehow brokered a truce with Philippa. Tissaia is stood with a woman Yennefer does not recognise. She looks to be in her mid-forties, her hair blonde but streaked with silver, and there is something about her face that snags on Yennefer’s mind, but she cannot place her.

“Hello, Yennefer.”

Yennefer’s eyes widen. She’d know that voice anywhere, it was the soundtrack to her childhood, the only warm thing she knew some days. Gobsmacked, she asks,

“Sister Margarita?”

“Just Margarita now, Rita to my friends. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you again.” She reaches out to cup Yennefer’s face, “Let me look at you. How you’ve grown! And so beautiful.”

Yennefer reaches up to grasp her wrists framing her face, “How did you find me? I looked for you at the convent years ago but all they’d tell me was you’d moved on.”

Rita smiles and tilts her head at Tissaia, “Your fiancée tracked me down. And oh, I was so glad to hear you were alive, thriving, happy. I have prayed for you every day." She grows serious, "And I must ask your forgiveness, for what was done to you and to Renfri."

Yennefer takes her hands in her own, holds them in front of her, “There is nothing to forgive, you did nothing.”

“Exactly. I stood by and let them break the two of you.”

Yennefer repeats vehemently, “There is nothing to forgive. You were the only thing that kept me sane in that place, the only person who made me feel cared for.”

Rita pulls Yennefer into a hug and Yennefer sighs. She smells the same somehow, of lemons and starched cotton, her arms still the warm, comforting cocoon that Yennefer had burrowed into as a child. They step back from one another and Yennefer grins,

“Come on, there’s people you should meet. After all, you’re the first family I ever had so it’s time you were introduced to the rest of them.”

As they walk to join the others, Yennefer glances back at Tissaia to mouth, “Thank you.”

Tissaia just smiles and gives a satisfied nod at a rough edge that can finally be smoothed away. And even if she happens to sit Rita and Philippa next to each other on purpose, she can hardly be blamed for the sparks that fly between them or the phone numbers they exchange before they’ve even had dessert.

* * * *

Tissaia picks at a non-existent piece of lint on her dress, her fingers nervously plucking at it. When that doesn’t work, she reaches for the folds of Yennefer’s dress and tweaks them until they hang evenly. Yennefer takes her hands and stills them,

“Stop fussing, you look perfect.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“Maybe you _should_ have asked Regis to walk with you, he looks like he’d be good to hold onto when your legs feel like they’re about to give way.”

Tissaia shakes her head, “No. You’re going to be holding my hand. That’s all I need.”

Yennefer smiles and leans down to kiss her but Tissaia puts her finger on her lips to hold her back, “Oh no you don’t. You’ll need to marry me first. A girl has to have some standards.”

Tissaia shivers when Yennefer breathes against her ear, “You know how much I enjoy your standards.” And then giggles when she snuffles a wet kiss into her neck.

They jump apart guiltily when Calanthe clears her throat pointedly, “Are you two quite finished?”

She and Geralt both pat their pockets one last time to check their respective rings are still there then wave at Nenneke from the back of the church. Yennefer had fought the idea of a church wedding but had relented when Nenneke offered to conduct a blessing rather than a service. Ciri is going to walk with Geralt, she’d balked at the suggestion of being a flower girl, her nose wrinkling scornfully so they had settled on her and Geralt both being Yennefer’s ring-bearers. Eist kicks his bagpipes into life and Yennefer jumps at the sudden noise, Tissaia biting her lip not to laugh as Yennefer glares at him. And then they are walking and Tissaia forgets to be nervous.

Nenneke has joined their hands and wrapped round them with a short length of cotton rope (fabric is the traditional choice but Yennefer and Tissaia enjoy the symbolism of using one of their ropes). Nenneke finishes tying the knot and speaks,

“Tissaia and Yennefer have chosen this blessing, which I will now read, as their vows to one another. These words and the cord that binds their hands signifies their bond, their commitment and their love.

_These are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love for you, that are holding yours on your wedding day, as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow, and forever._

_These are the hands that will work alongside yours, as together you build your future._

_These are the hands that will passionately love you and cherish you through the years, and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other._

_These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind._

_These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow, and tears of joy._ _”_

Nenneke pauses and glances at Ciri, _“These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children. These are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one._ _”_

She has been supporting their joined hands with her own, her palm underneath them but she now carefully pulls away.

 _“_ _These are the hands that will give you strength when you need it._

 _And lastly, these are the hands that even when wrinkled and aged, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch._ _”_

Once they (and everyone else in the room) have composed themselves after the handfasting, numerous handkerchiefs and tissues dabbing at eyes, Yennefer and Tissaia exchange rings and Nenneke performs the legally binding part of the ceremony. And then they are walking again and Tissaia cannot imagine a time when she did not have Yennefer’s hand in hers.

* * * *

The drive from the reception at Calanthe's house to the train station is a precious moment of silence for the two of them. The joy and noise and dancing of the party were wonderful but it is nice to finally have some space to themselves and the chance to catch their breath. Yenenfer hands a slip of paper to their driver,

"Would you stop off at this address please? We’re going there first.”

Tissaia raises her eyebrows questioningly,

“And just where are we going, might I ask?”

Yennefer grins, “It’s a surprise.”

Tissaia narrows her eyes but doesn’t push, she’s learnt to trust Yennefer, to accept a bit of suspense and things being out with her control. When they pull up next to the pavement Tissaia has to smile,

“You are a hopeless romantic, you know that?”

Yennefer just smiles in return and turns to the driver, “We’ll walk to the station from here.”

“No problem ladies, have a wonderful honeymoon.”

He drives off and Yennefer holds out her hand, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Tissaia chuckles and they walk through the archway, nod at the bouncer and push through the doors to the bar. It is significantly quieter than the last time they were here. The little two-seater booth in the corner has a reserved sign on it but Yennefer just nods at the waitress and removes it. Tissaia slides onto the padded bench,

“You had this all organised, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to risk turning up and finding someone already sat here.”

They settle into the booth across from one another and Yennefer asks softly, “So, what brings you here?”

Tissaia smiles, “I’m waiting to catch a train.”

They talk, order chips to share, step outside for a smoke, talk more, and Tissaia never wants it to end. She knew it that night, when Yennefer first crashed onto the bench opposite her and offered to buy her a drink, she knew then that she wanted to spend forever in that moment. They must leave though and there is so much more waiting for them out there, so she stands, and they head to the door. When they look outside and see the rain, Yennefer swears,

“You have got to be fucking kidding me! It was glorious sunshine an hour ago!”

Tissaia just chuckles and reaches into her handbag, “It’s a good thing one of us is always prepared.”

Yennefer grins when she sees the umbrella, “Would you like me to hold it? I know it’s a _stretch_ for you.”

Tissaia glowers at her, “You just wait until we’re cramped into the sleeper cabin on the train, the you’ll wish you were shorter.”

She hands Yennefer the umbrella though and links their elbows to walk. And this time, when they reach the train station, Yennefer walks with Tissaia through the gates rather than standing watching her go. And, as the city observes the two of them head off together, it smiles knowingly. It has seen more of life pass through its streets than it can recall but it is certain of this; that there is going to be an adventure.

_When your heart is drunk, and you feel no pain_

_And you find yourself walking home again,_

_So, you kiss the cold and you taste the rain_

_And you sing the old farewell. -Tide Lines-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot lay claim to the blessing used in the wedding ceremony which is a traditional handfasting one of Celtic origin but an unknown author. Whoever wrote it, however many years ago, I thought it a beautiful way of summing up everything Tissaia and Yennefer promised each other.


End file.
